


If we can't find where we belong

by CeNedraRiva



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angel Culture & Customs, Angel Powers, Angel Wings, Angelic Grace, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Castiel is older than humanity, Dean is Bad at Feelings, F/M, Gen, M/M, Masturbation, POV Castiel, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Apocalypse, Protective Castiel, Season/Series 04, Season/Series 05, Suicidal Thoughts, Torture, Touchy-Feely
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-04
Updated: 2017-05-04
Packaged: 2018-10-28 04:25:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 21
Words: 79,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10823724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CeNedraRiva/pseuds/CeNedraRiva
Summary: Castiel had know about the Winchester family line for centuries. They were an archangel bloodline, everyone knew about them. He just didn't care. There were better things to do than worry about Winchesters, such as fighting demons. It wasn't until all of the Earthly Garrison were called back to Heaven to prepare for the Apocalypse that Castiel took notice of the brothers, watching from above as he waited for orders.Unexpectedly, he found himself growing quite fond of Dean. Enough so that other angels begin to notice and comment. After rescuing Dean from Hell, Castiel continued to grow closer to him, despite the warnings.Of course, these things never run smoothly. Particularly when love is involved.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic began as some tiny little 2k character study, until I pulled it out to use as a base for the Castiel Big Bang. It then quickly began to grow unruly, more than doubling my original wordcount estimate while covering less than half what I wanted it to. So here it is!  
> I would like to thank shannon-kind for beta-ing for me, and for their patience with me as I wrote. I would also like to thank shennanigoats, paperannxo and dreamsfromthebunker, who all helped me bounce around ideas as I wrote. Without you all, i would not have been able to complete this!  
> Finally, a thank-you to kuwlshadow for creating some wonderful art for this fic!

Castiel had known of the Winchesters for centuries before ever actually meeting one. All the Host knew of them. The family was of direct descent from Michael’s only human vessel. Occasionally, the Winchester line would be brought together to couple with one of the other vessel descendants to replenish the sanctity of their blood. Such important successes as matchmaking and the birth of firstborns were often announced across the Host, but none so loud as the lives of the Winchester line, broadcast by Raphael himself.

Such was the hierarchy of the celestial Host. For billions of years they had revelled among God’s creation, singing the harmonies of the universe. They were some of Castiel’s earliest memories, though anything earlier than the big bang was rather hazy. Things had been simpler, then, as the first planets were beginning to form from newly forged elements fresh from the hearts of the stars, massive discs of dust and ice slowly rotating around newborn stars until they began to accrete. The angels were more innocent, beings of pure wonder and curiosity, playing and sculpting the laws that humans would one day name physics under their Father’s guidance.

Things did not remain peaceful for long. Angels were not the only beings to call God their Father, and Life itself was tenacious. Irrepressible. Creatures – monsters composed of pure thought and malice and energy – began to creep into the spaces between the stars, the dark expanses of the silent abyss. They had no names. No real intelligence. The Host could feel their presence, eyes in the blackness staring out at the light.

Everyone knew the tale of the angel Astarael, trapped alone in the void. The angel’s desolate song, full of loneliness and pain, resonated across the Host. They listened as the dark ones closed in, until the last of Astarael’s light was snuffed out. Before Astarael, no angel had ever experienced death. No angel had ever lost another. The idea that they could simply cease to be – it was terrifying. Worse, though, was the grief of Yrael, Astarael’s closest companion and lover. Eventually driven mad with sorrow, the angel flew out into the abyss, convinced that Astarael must somehow still live, merely waiting for salvation. Six other angels accompanied Yrael. Ranna. Mosrael. Belgaer. Dyrim. Kibeth. Saraneth. One by one their songs went silent, smothered by the dark, until only little Ranna remained. Ranna, who eventually wandered back into the light again, but was never the same. Sweet Ranna, drifting in a dream-world deep within the Garden, made of fond memories.

Moving together in flights across the void, many casualties were avoided, but it did nothing to stem the anger at the deaths. The terror of the dark. Even if the majority of the angels travelling between the stars survived, many were driven mad by the crossing, refusing steadfastly to ever leave the light again.

The Archangels, four primordial forces of creation, called the Host to arms. Never before had an angel been in combat, but listening to the wails of slowly dying angels was an agony none were eager to repeat.

So it was that Heaven went to war against the silence and the dark.

It was only a few billion years later that the Earth was formed and gifted with Life by their Father. From that moment, all of Heaven knew that something new was coming. Angels from across the Universe were called to Earth to guard the young planet from the terrors of the void. Angels were stationed at every planet in the system. Waiting. Watchful. Castiel was among them, spending many millennia flying across the atmosphere of Jupiter. The diamond rains of Jupiter’s storms were spectacular.

It was on while resting on Ganymede between guard shifts that Castiel first met Balthazar, an angel from the garrison on Earth.

When Balthazar eventually returned to Earth, Castiel followed.

Earth, though. Earth was different. Earth had life. Life made of complex organic strings and electric signals, life that drew energy from the nearby star and transmuted it for their own use. Earth was fascinating. Always growing, too. Evolving, from slimy little unmoving blobs into complex life with backbones. Tiny gasping fish dragging themselves out of the water to find better places to survive. Weird green spines photosynthesising above the mud, sending spores through the air to grow further offspring. Earth was an excellent place, a haven, their Father’s favourite place across the stars.

Somehow, perhaps inevitably, monsters began to appear on Earth as Life grew more complex. Weird things, akin to the void terrors of the deep expanse, stepped out from the spaces between dimensions, and like locusts they swarmed to feed on the very fabric of the Earth. Voidkin – vicious, malignant beings – could quickly cause a huge amount of damage if left unchallenged. The worst part was they would quickly grow in intelligence, particularly if they came into contact with any living being, absorbing their energy and that tiny spark of Life. It could make them very formidable foes. Many of the angels of Earth were tasked with countering their influence either by fighting them off or fixing their influence.

Castiel loathed them. Loathed the idea of them, the destruction they caused, the way they worked to unmake God’s creations. Castiel was a warrior, and they were anathema. As the angels began to organise into ever more efficient guardians of the planet Earth and all that lived across it, Castiel proved again and again to be an excellent strategist, devoted to battling the voidkin wherever they encroached. All of Heaven, all hundred thousand angels, though spread out across the universe, were united in harmony, devoted to shepherding their Father’s universe.

And then Lucifer fell.

* * *

 

There was a great joyousness among the garrison when the cherub Hazassoel successfully inspired Love between Mary Campbell and John Winchester. Castiel noted the occurrence, but placed the knowledge aside, irrelevant as it was on the battlefield. As one of the higher ranking angels within the Earthly Garrison, Castiel had larger concerns than the successes of cherubim at regulating human populations. Voidkin and demons were as dangerous as ever no matter what the humans were doing. Castiel did notice Ananchel, the angel’s immediate superior, was acting more distant than usual. It was troubling, but as it didn’t impact on Ananchel’s efficiency as a warrior or a leader, Castiel never brought it up. Castiel wasn’t the best at social interactions, and no doubt addressing Ananchel’s distraction would require a level of tactfulness and poise the earnest angel did not possess. Still, Castiel watched carefully for any sign Ananchel might falter, for surely their enemies would exploit any weakness mercilessly.

During a standstill in the confrontation it was announced to the Host that Dean Winchester was born. The vessel bloodline was secured. The event was a cause for celebration, and Ananchel allowed their flight a month of revelry. Balthazar in particular took the chance to flirt with every angel stationed across the Americas, even speaking to Castiel in the same manner though the angel knew it would lead to nothing. The festivities were rather cheering, though Castiel was content with less exuberant displays of merriment than the others, simply singing praise for God’s glory. After the first few days, the peace of solitude became very appealing. Humans were much more interesting to watch than any celebrations, and besides it would only devolve into another battle of wits and sarcasm between Uriel and Balthazar. Perhaps even a duel if Hester got involved.

Human populations had been growing almost exponentially in recent centuries, particularly after their discovery of microorganisms and their relation to disease. It continued to astound Castiel how kind and creative humans could be to each other and their world, even as they searched for meaning in their life. They were the Lord’s creations as much as any angel, and Castiel loved them dearly. Returning to battle, the regiment fought with renewed vigour, reminded once more of the righteousness of the Lord’s Design.

It was shortly after the announcement that the Winchesters had birthed a second son that Castiel was promoted to Flight Lieutenant, assuming command of nearly two hundred angels. Castiel accepted the responsibility with all the dignity and passion it deserved, glad to be of use to the Host, though the circumstances that necessitated advancement were beyond regrettable. Ananchel had gone missing during a solitary mission, and before long they had all felt the pain and horror of grace being ripped apart, and Ananchel had fallen silent. Zachariah, as the emissary between the Earthly Garrison and Heaven above, had declared the angel dead, before raising Castiel’s rank.

The loss had a sobering effect on their company. Ananchel hadn’t shied from socialising with all the angels of the garrison, and was beloved by many. Even Balthazar was subdued. Through their grief and frustration, Castiel remained stoic, a pillar of solidarity, while co-ordinating hundreds of combat flights across the Earth. Hester and Uriel, as flight sergeants, both welcomed the chance to destroy enemies of the Host. Inias confided that they all appreciated the distraction and redirection of their grief.

In the quiet moments, Castiel could feel the weight of guilt. Would things perhaps have been different if Castiel had spoken up, to Ananchel or a superior? Ananchel had been distracted for over a decade, speaking in a similar fashion to a human, speculating on the nature of emotion and the pleasures of human life. No one else in regular contact with their former lieutenant had noticed, or at least none of them thought it unusual after being stationed so long on Earth. No one else had the same chance as Castiel to intervene. Perhaps it wouldn’t have saved Ananchel’s life, but Castiel was certain that distraction had contributed to Ananchel’s death. Castiel resolved not to act idly should a similar situation ever occur in the future.

Under Castiel’s leadership, the four flights led by Uriel, Hester, Balthazar and Inias were often victorious. Enough so that the upper echelons of Heaven – those angels that served directly beneath Michael and Raphael managing Heaven and all the angels across the universe – began to take notice of Castiel’s successes. Castiel had merely attempted to lead the flights well, reorganising their forces so as to best take advantage of every angel’s specialties and domains, but it was enough that they began to receive more important assignments. Of course, no mission for the Lord lacked importance, but some had an obvious purpose within the greater plan. The flights were visibly enlivened, and Castiel was glad to provide this much for them.

The awakening of the Prophet Chuck was a momentous occasion among the Host. It had been centuries since the last prophet awakened. Every angel knew there was only one thing this could possibly mean. The Host waited in suspense as Michael sought Revelation. Castiel’s flights, among others, were called back to Heaven for the first time in over two thousand years. Zachariah welcomed them back with four smiles, one on each face. Somehow they struck Castiel as decidedly false.

Apparently a vital mission lay ahead, and Castiel’s troops would be a part of the forward attack, as soon as the Host gained confirmation from God. In the meantime, they were to relax and recover in Paradise. This met with mixed reactions, from Hester’s impatience to Balthazar’s sarcastic nonchalance. Castiel personally found the waiting very frustrating. As a soldier, the angel preferred the battlefield, smiting demons and voidkin to idling indefinitely. 

Curious as to the cause for their inactivity, and restless waiting for command, Castiel began to watch the Winchester brothers. There had been rumours and gossip about them for years, beginning with the death of Mary Winchester. Castiel had mostly ignored it at the time, grieving for Ananchel and learning to command four times as many angels. Unexpectedly, Castiel found an interest in watching the brothers, Dean in particular. They were warriors, hunters of the supernatural, killers of the monsters that preyed upon mankind. Both loved their family deeply, willing to give of themselves endlessly for each other or for their Father. They were righteous.

As the brothers hunted a demon that delighted in aeronautical accidents, Castiel was conflicted. Created from the souls of the damned, demons felt obscene in a way that jarred unpleasantly with Castiel’s grace, especially in the way they sought to damn other humans around them. Souls driven mad from cruelty and pain, their only goals were to cause destruction and misery to the living, death if they could manage it. Castiel wished to purge them from the Earth, both as a punishment and as a reprieve. To merely sit and watch as the Winchesters fought one didn’t feel like the correct path, though Castiel knew better than to interfere. Still, as Sam Winchester spoke the last words of the exorcism Castiel saw an opportunity. Later, with Zachariah’s warning still echoing, Castiel found little to regret in assisting the brothers. The lightning was simply a manifestation of grace, burning out the last remnants of the demon’s tainted essence. Balthazar’s incessant teasing regarding Castiel’s apparent fondness for the Winchesters was much more bothersome, accurate as it was.

When Dean Winchester was given only weeks to live after his heart was damaged battling a rawhead, Castiel had the sudden impulse to heal him, surprisingly difficult to ignore. It seemed completely unfair that the hunter should die like this after all the good he’d done, slowly and in pain. Part of their Father’s plan or not, the man’s death in a few weeks’ time created a discord that clashed horribly with Castiel’s grace. The last time the angel had felt anything remotely similar had been during Lucifer’s fall, when huge portions of the future, thousands of possible futures were negated in a single moment. It was possibly the closest an angel could get to feeling nauseated.

It had taken an alarmingly short time to grow attached to the human, despite having no real exposure to each other. How closely interwoven must some of their futures be for Castiel to feel so affected? It was quite obvious that no other angel had felt the same intense discord. Many hadn’t even noticed the change in future threads. Castiel had the feeling that this was the sort of odd occurrence that should be reported to Zachariah. It would certainly be useful in the crafting of future strategies, knowing which angels were likely to directly interact with which humans.

Somehow, the idea of sharing felt profane. A betrayal of trust, almost. Instinct and protocol were at odds, leaving Castiel feeling incredibly torn – hesitant on the edge of informing the upper echelons of Heaven.

In the end, it didn’t matter. Dean Winchester’s death was negated by a vengeful reaper. It unsettled the natural order once more, but Castiel couldn’t help smiling in relief. Dean Winchester brought so much good to the world, a ripple effect moving forwards in time – the hundreds of lives now potentially saved and monsters slaughtered, the dozens of hunters inspired to do good by the Winchesters. His influence in the world resettled against Castiel’s grace with a low hum.

It was only a few weeks later that Michael returned. Suddenly it all made sense, the reason why angels were being called to Heaven even as demons began to mobilise. All eyes in Heaven turned to the Winchesters, the potential bringers of the Apocalypse. It all centred on them. The command went out to begin securing Earthly vessels. Castiel’s flights were some of those chosen to accept the honour, which was rather exciting as none of them had ever taken a human vessel before. Apparently it was nothing like residing in the body of a dromaeosaur or a smilodon. Human emotions and personalities were strong enough that they could echo through even when an angel was occupying the vessel. But it also opened the possibilities for true vessels, humans that were near perfect reflections of their divine counterparts.  Shaped by their nature and their experiences, true vessels were incredibly rare. Through a true vessel, an angel’s power would flow easily and undiluted, like an extension of their own grace, instead of a confining physical body. Castiel could admit to being curious.

It didn’t take long to find the Novak household. Something about their souls called to Castiel, like a harmony of soul and grace. Only two of them carried the bloodline, Jimmy Novak and his daughter, but it was enough. Jimmy Novak would be the preferable vessel of course, both aesthetically and practically. Adult vessels were almost exclusively superior as far as transmitting an angel’s grace, with the exception of true vessels of course. It was something to do with the way souls developed as they aged.

 Making contact with Jimmy was simple, as he was one of the few humans with the ability to perceive angels in their trueforms to some extent. After their first painful interaction, Jimmy’s natural ability became active, allowing him to hear and even understand angelic voices without damage. Castiel was lucky. Even among vessels it was a rare trait, limiting most angels to interacting through dreams and visions instead of directly. Jimmy proved to be enthusiastically devout, willing to give whatever Castiel and Heaven needed. Castiel liked him.

The next time Castiel had the opportunity to watch the Winchesters, they were battling daevae. Midway through battle, actually. Several other angels were watching, critiquing their tactics. Castiel remained silent. Daevae were difficult foes. They were corrupted souls, as all demons were, but their souls came from a more primal time, before humans ever evolved. Ancient creatures with claws and teeth and vicious predatory instinct, creatures that died scared and in pain desperately lashing out for control. Technically they were closer to a kind of ghost, but when Hell was formed Lucifer was quick to adopt them. Daevae were the hunters in the dark. That primal fear that all humans possessed concentrated a thousand times and turned rabid.

Fortunately, that reliance on darkness made them terribly weak to light. The battle ended quickly, after Sam Winchester realised the connection.

The rest of Castiel’s flights had been unsuccessful at finding their vessels. Many of the bloodlines had been lost or diluted over the centuries, despite Heaven’s best efforts. The sheer number of humans was also a problem. For most of human history there had only been a few million individuals, easy enough to sift through for compatible vessels. Now, with several billion humans teeming across the globe, it was understandable that finding two or three specific ones was a slow task. Especially so, considering that vessel bloodlines could only be detected by the angel to whom the bloodline belonged. Castiel had only found the Novaks so quickly because their home was near to the Shawnee National Park, one of Castiel’s favourite places to rest between missions.

Ironically, Uriel was the second to locate a vessel several months later, somewhere in New York. Hester found one only a week later, and another three of Castiel’s angels found vessels the next week. That still left many more searching, but Castiel was confident that the majority of them would find a suitable vessel by the time Heaven was to go to war.

And then John Winchester bartered his life for his son.

Castiel, still only speaking with Jimmy Novak, gave no sign of the sudden urgency within Heaven. John Winchester, a righteous man, was now in Hell to save the life of his son. The legions of Heaven lay poised to storm the Pit, should he become the Righteous Man of prophecy.

But John Winchester did not break. He did not take up the tools of torture, he did not turn his back on humanity. Castiel was grateful for every moment he didn’t, although he didn’t understand why there were no orders to save the soul and prevent him from ever breaking. Strategically, this waiting made no sense. The man was strong, but all humans possessed flaws and weaknesses, and it would only be so long before their enemies began to exploit them, if they hadn’t already. It was frustrating to be limited to merely reactionary instead of pre-emptive methods, but unfortunately it appeared that it was an aspect of the Lord’s design. Only through the act of breaking would John Winchester actually become the Righteous Man, simultaneously breaking the first seal and beginning the Apocalypse.

Zachariah was of the belief that it was rather elegant. Castiel disagreed, but what was the opinion of a single seraph before the will of almighty God? If this was the path that led to Paradise for all mankind and eternal peace across Heaven, then Castiel would ignore any reservations and doubts about the methods that got them there. Allowing the denizens of Hell the advantage of breaking the first seal would not matter if they were never able to break a second.

* * *

 

Rachel was the first to notice the new croatoan town. They popped up from time to time, entire villages left abandoned over the course of a week, the inhabitants never seen again. They were difficult to predict, so unluckily no angel had ever witnessed the actual event, though the places always stank of sulphur afterwards. Oddly, this time the Winchesters were nearby. It was possible they had some insight as to what had happened.

Zachariah did not agree, refusing Castiel’s request to scan their memories. There were no spare resources, now that the Host was preparing for the End of Days. Castiel fought the impulse to question the decision. Zachariah was in direct contact with Michael, who received orders from God. Castiel would not act against the authority of their Father, simply for curiosity.

* * *

 

Nearly a year after John Winchester was taken to Hell, Sam Winchester was murdered. It was obvious Dean was unstable in his absence.

Castiel ached, watching Dean struggle. The grief over Ananchel’s death was still raw, even twenty-six years later. Obviously, whatever Castiel was feeling, it was far worse for Dean. Castiel still had the rest of the Host, a huge extended family, where Dean was nearly alone.

As expected, Dean made a deal. He was marked for Hell.

With Sam alive once more, the Winchesters and their allies sped off to prevent Azazel from opening the American Devil’s Gate.

Unfortunately, the Devil’s Gate was opened for several minutes before the humans could reseal it. Again, Castiel questioned the wisdom behind restraining angels from acting, when it was so obvious any of them could have intervened. Now hundreds of demons were free across America, free to run rampant and summon more of their brethren to the surface. The only positive was that Azazel was dead, leaving their forces leaderless and directionless. It was a poor advantage, but one nonetheless.

Still, Zachariah refused to allow Castiel’s forces to vanquish the demons. They were not even allowed to return to Earth, except to court their vessels.

Resigned to wait in Heaven, Castiel retreated to the Heaven of an autistic man, an eternal Tuesday afternoon. Castiel liked this particular Heaven. It was a beautiful garden. Nearby, the gentle soul relaxed, absorbed in the flying of a kite.

The weirdest part of the entire incident was watching as John Winchester escaped Hell alongside the demons. With him gone, there was no chance of the first seal breaking, making their continued confinement in Heaven odd. If not John Winchester, who would trigger the prophecy?

Castiel worried that perhaps the true Righteous Man was Dean. Only Michael and their Father would know for sure, but the facts fit. Dean was marked for Hell in exchange for the life of another. His bloodline was the most powerful of all vessels. Once he died, there was no doubt Dean would be subjected to all manner of tortures.

Time would tell.

* * *

 

Castiel was watching during Dean Winchester’s last moments on Earth. Castiel saw as Lilith broke the salt line, and watched as hellhounds fell upon the man. It was difficult. Dean Winchester was a good man, loyal and loving. It felt wrong to stand by, even to allow free will to play out, but watching was the most Castiel could do for the man. Castiel would act as witness to Dean’s sacrifice.

The death itself was quick, blood-loss and shock quickly overwhelming the body. Unfortunately, Hell would feel much longer. Dean’s soul struggled, trapped between the teeth of the hellhound, which padded back towards its master. Lilith turned to Sam, gathering power into her palm.

The attack had no effect. Unnerved, she fled, the hound at her heels. Seconds later, Castiel felt the tug of Dean’s soul crossing over the barrier between realms.

Sam collapsed, weeping over the corpse of his brother. Bobby found them a few minutes later, stepping closer to comfort the grieving brother. Castiel watched, guarding over them both until the last demon disappeared, until Sam fell silent.

Now a new righteous man resided in Hell. A new possibility for Hell to focus on, to try and break.

It wouldn’t be much longer now.


	2. Chapter 2

When the first Seal broke, the entire Host felt it reverberate through Heaven, Earth and Hell. An urge that in any lesser being would likely be labelled instinct rose up – a call to arms engrained deep within their very grace – and left them trembling. Their entire existence had been leading up to this moment and the End of Days. The army of Heaven lay poised, the search for vessels abandoned, until with a single command they flung themselves into the Pit. Had their enemy been flesh and blood, the battle would have been described as a bloodbath. Ahead of their forces, low-level demons were burned apart by mere exposure to the Angels of the Lord, shining bright with fiery justice.

Castiel led four flights deep into the Pit, following the lament of Dean Winchester’s soul. Beside Castiel, four other lieutenants marched, each leading two hundred soldiers, every one intent on saving the Righteous Man. The rest of Earth’s Garrison circled them, fighting off the resistance.

Even so, it was slow going. The hordes of Hell were innumerable and constant, and they feared the eternity of torture at Lilith’s hand that awaited the disobedient more than the instantaneous death of attacking angels. Castiel barely noticed it all, focused only on Dean Winchester. The man’s soul cried out in revulsion, even as he inflicted horrors upon other souls on the racks. He cried for mercy, not for himself but for those beneath his knife, begging, praying that someone stronger would intervene. Castiel burned to find him, to fold around such a pure soul, protect him from the agonies of Hell and heal him of all his wounds.

Faster, Castiel had to move faster. Was this not the purpose of all angels? Not smiting the wicked, but to deliver those suffering from evil? Dean Winchester needed absolution. He deserved it. Castiel realised idly that no other angel stood nearby, fallen far behind. Demons were everywhere, but with a snarl Castiel sent them scattering. Distractions, all of them. Castiel sprang forwards, searching, tracking the lament of the lost soul.

There! Right there!

Dean Winchester, wreathed in infernal smoke and agony. Still human. Still untainted by the cruelties he was inflicting. Castiel was not too late. A demon, Hell’s Inquisitor, was coiled around the Righteous Man, whispering and threatening and breaking down any attempt at rebellion. Beneath his oppressive will, Dean Winchester slashed outwards towards the damned soul bound before him with blades formed of rage and despair. He laughed as they struck true, absorbed in the task of breaking another. The demon, noticing Castiel’s presence, gave a smirk and coiled tighter, urged Dean Winchester to cut deeper.

Castiel was alone, allies far behind, caught up in battle. The demon was one of the highest ranking within Hell, with power enough to overcome an angel of a lower order. Castiel paused, glaring back, considering hundreds of strategies in less than a second. As a tactician, as a leader, the best option was to be cautious, to call the rest of the Earthly Garrison to converge on this spot and rip this Alistair into wisps of smoke.

Castiel threw caution aside.

Celestial fire exploded out from the core of Castiel’s grace, burning hotter than any star, twisting and writhing into knife-edges along Castiel’s wings. Energy screamed out, Castiel’s battle chant breaking in shockwaves against the demon’s ashen soul. Alistair seemed unprepared for the viciousness of the attack, uncoiling from Dean Winchester to better brace himself, clumps of soot falling away from his smoke body as the attacks landed, attacks that would already have vaporised any lesser demons.

In that moment Castiel struck, snatching Dean Winchester away from his tormentor. In the same motion, Castiel turned to flee, drawing the desperate soul closer. Grace enveloped Dean Winchester, surrounding him on every plane, through every dimension, until not a drop of Hell’s miasma could reach him. Nothing would touch him. Nothing would harm him. Never again. Castiel would not fail him.

They sped past the battlefields of Hell, still raging. Twisting through the combat, Castiel weathered all the blows against them. Dean felt no injury.

Quicker, quicker, Castiel had to move faster. It was still dangerous.

Dean must be saved.

Castiel burnt through a horde of demons.

Dean must be saved.

An angel called out, Castiel flew onwards.

Dean must be saved!

Together, they broke through the membrane between Hell and Earth. Castiel wheeled around the dark sky, open and cold.

The site of Dean’s grave was quiet.  Castiel calmed, resting within the dark earth. Here, they were safe. No demons, no angels, no other beings besides the simple lives of plants and fungi, both of which were generally unconcerned with the wars of Heaven. This was safe.

Safe.

Carefully, Castiel turned inwards to examine the liberated soul. Dean was understandably cautious, though he calmed quickly. His raw soul was pressed against Castiel’s grace, entangled closer than an embrace during their desperate flight from Hell and Alistair’s blades. It would be impossible for Castiel to hide any malice from him, and Dean seemed to realise this. Unspoken prayers and hopes flickered across his soul, accompanied by a relief so deep Castiel was shaken. For just as Castiel could not hide from Dean, Dean could not hide from Castiel. He could not hide the depths and colours of his soul, the way it chimed and sang and chattered. He could not hide the dark threads stitched across it, corruption digging deeper and leaving Dean terrified for the fate of others.

Castiel could not leave him.

Gently, tendrils of grace traced the outline of Dean, soothed the infernal wounds and began to draw out the poison. Dean cried out, but pressed closer, desperate to be healed and saved. Castiel trembled before his trust.

It was nearly dawn by the time Castiel finished, Dean long since lulled into rest. Castiel smiled.

Comparatively, crafting his body from nearby molecules was easy. A slab of flesh, a machine with no power source, simple in an anatomical sense. Castiel could remember the time when life on Earth consisted of small blobby things, amoebas and bacteriums and single-celled little things feeding on chemical gradients in puddles. Funny how much more complex life grew in only three billion years, into creatures composed of complex co-operatives of cells working blindly together for the selfish greater good of their body. This one chosen species of ape split apart the workings of Heaven and drove the Lord to cast out the Morningstar to live among the demons. The purposes of all Angels were reshaped around them, given an enemy in Hell to fight because of humanity.

Castiel did not find it particularly annoying that so many of their purposes became shaped around humans. It certainly kept the last few million years interesting, and besides, humans were fascinating little creatures, full of creativity and goodness. Both traits were alarmingly low among angels ever since the death of Astarael the Sorrowful. Pain and fear had hardened them, burned away that innocent wonder at existence and shaped them into soldiers. Perhaps, though, Castiel was biased to find humans pleasing. It was only with the advent of humanity that Castiel received domains to preside over, and no one would argue that Temperance, Solitude and Thursdays were naturally occurring. Castiel still defended them fiercely.

Dean’s body was complete only minutes after Castiel began. The soul cradled by Grace began to shift, sensing its’ presence. Castiel hummed with pleasure. Only a true vessel would call to the soul it was meant to contain. The body had been crafted properly, then. Still, Dean could not return to it yet. It was still only unliving flesh, no more able to hold a soul than air.

A spark of grace was all it took. Each individual cell came alive almost simultaneously, the heart began to pump, the lungs began to bellow. A living, soulless body, as if braindead. This was as far as an angel could go to create life. Following a blueprint to construct an animal, sparking the life processes across the body. It would never truly Live until it had been inhabited by a soul, and no angel could create that.

Carefully, Castiel shifted and uncoiled from around Dean. The soul wiggled, half awake, trying to move closer. With only a single tendril of grace still in contact, Castiel poured Dean’s soul back into the body, watched it spread and splash within the confines of his vessel until it had permeated every cell.

Unexpectedly, Dean refused to relinquish Castiel, his soul grasping tighter as if he couldn’t bear the thought of being alone. Castiel shivered, senses flooded once more with everything that was Dean. Would it be so bad to stay, at least until he was settled? These were dangerous thoughts, for an angel. No.

Still, Castiel would not abandon him – the bond focused, burning into the flesh of Dean’s vessel as a visible mark and invisible enochian sigils tracing Castiel’s name. Dean’s soul relaxed, content the bond would not snap.

Oh, this was wrong. Dean was Michael’s vessel. Castiel had no claim on the man, either as a guardian or otherwise. Still, the bond felt good, buried deep in the back of Castiel’s mind, some deep awareness that Dean was fine. Safe. Castiel was loathe to break it, and besides it would likely only send the soul back into hysterics. Perhaps – Castiel was quite an accomplished spellcrafter – perhaps the bond could be hidden. Just until Castiel was sure Dean was entirely well. In fact, with only a few more sigils the bond was entirely concealed.

Warding complete, Castiel slipped beyond human cognition, moving every wavelength of Grace further into the gamma spectrum and out of visible sight.

Dean’s life signals were speeding up.

With a gasp, he awoke, scrambling within his coffin. Castiel shifted, resisting the urge to help while watching as Dean broke through the rotted wood, struggling to the surface. If there was only one thing Castiel had learned after observing the Winchesters for the past three years, it was that he would not appreciate being coddled. He had to have the chance to re-establish independence once more, after spending decades helpless in Hell.

On consideration, Zachariah would likely have ordered Castiel not to interfere anyway. The Righteous Man still had to prove his value to Heaven, and to Michael. The time spent in Hell might have corrupted Dean Winchester beyond reparation in the eyes of Heaven. Castiel knew Dean would prove worthy.

Dean broke through to the surface, collapsing to his back. Castiel pressed into the soil directly below him, discretely checking on the state of his mind and health. He was settling into his restored body easily, already focused on survival. Castiel followed as he recovered, wandering towards an abandoned shop.

It was…disappointing, to find out that Dean was unable to withstand Castiel’s true voice. At first Castiel had hoped that Dean was simply adjusting to having a human body, but after trying to contact him for a second time at a hotel, it become obvious he would never be able to perceive Castiel without injury.

Abruptly, Castiel realised Dean’s salvation had never been announced to All Heaven and the Realms Beyond. Angels were still fighting in the depths of the Pit while Castiel trailed after the Righteous Man like an imprinted puppy. Immediately Castiel retreated to Heaven, singing of victory for all to hear. Each soldier in Hell screamed out in triumph, while Heaven rose in glorious chorus. Castiel was crowded immediately after entering Heaven, various angels offering congratulations.

By the time Castiel finished reporting to Zachariah, the garrison had retreated from Hell. Each angel sang out their name, confirming their survival, before settling in to heal whatever wounds they might have gained during battle.

Unfortunately, there were names missing. Voices silent, gone unnoticed during the cacophony of battle. Not many, thankfully. It would take a horde of demons to destroy a single angel, but obviously Hell was known for having hordes of demons.

Guilt sat heavily within Castiel’s grace. Dean Winchester was saved, yes, but the delay between Castiel’s victory and announcement may have been critical to their survival. It had been irresponsible to fly ahead, outpacing the others in order to reach Dean first. Castiel had been behaving irrationally, focused entirely on healing the human with no thought to the soldiers still fighting in Hell.

Balthazar had not yet arrived, or called out to the rest of the garrison. As the day dragged on, the time between angels checking in began to stretch to long minutes. Four hours after Castiel had announced victory, every angel known still to live had returned to Heaven. Each member of Balthazar’s flight was quiet, waiting. Uriel, Hester and Inias all waited alongside Castiel. Balthazar had not returned.

At five hours it became too much. They were warriors, specialised to fight across the battlefield that was the Earth, each declared vital enough to the war strategy to be bestowed the honour of taking a vessel. There were seals to protect from demon activity. None of them had the time to wait for the angel to return, and they all knew it.

Castiel declared Balthazar missing. It hurt, but there was no other option available.

Zachariah called for Castiel’s attention. Intrigued as to why Zachariah sought another audience so soon, Castiel flew closer. The news was not as good as it could have been. The Captain Rayilobel was one of the missing voices declared dead, and as Castiel had shown great bravery and forethought to reach the Righteous Man so quickly, Michael had decided Castiel deserved to be promoted once more.

Castiel was to be Captain of Earth’s Garrison, in charge of leading the warriors of Heaven in defence of the Seals of Lucifer. It was a great honour.

Obviously none of them had noticed the mark left on Dean’s vessel by the bond.

As the last angel left to complete their duties, Castiel was reminded in a rather unpleasant manner that Dean Winchester still had no clue how he had been resurrected. Psychic feelers stretched out following Castiel’s name like a prayer until they pressed against grace. Castiel flinched, recoiling from the touch with a warning. The psychic ignored it, brave soul, trying to press closer. Castiel warned her once more, retreating as well as possible from a being that was tracking a name through the ether.

She was too close. Close enough that Castiel could begin to pick up knowledge of her. Pamela Barnes, one of the most powerful living natural psychics. Optimistic, but she had faced great tragedies in her past. Brave, so brave. She had been on many hunts, protecting humans from creatures that preyed on dreams and emotions. Far too close, her mind had no protection. Castiel growled out again.

Pamela did not back down. She could not let herself, not if there was a new danger to Bobby’s boys. Castiel could feel the exact moment her unguarded mind looked upon raw grace. Her awe and horror and pain screamed out across the ethereal plane. Her body’s eyes caught fire, burned out by the celestial glory that was an angel. Castiel did not try to follow as she retreated. Any attempt to follow her would only injure her further, and as it was the only permanent damage was to her eyes.

Castiel had to find Dean Winchester before another was harmed.

Returning to the Novak household, Castiel found Jimmy Novak in a nervous state. His recent memories circled repeatedly around an argument with Amelia Novak, her opinion conflicting horribly with the faith he had in God and Heaven. Standing outside in front of his house, alone in the dark, Jimmy Novak was praying. Castiel answered, explaining for the first time exactly how Jimmy Novak would be serving the Lord, should he choose to accept. Promising to guard the Novak family was easy. There were hundreds of vessel-less angels currently waiting for a new mission to follow. Guarding bloodlines was a great honour.

Jimmy Novak said yes.

The first few moments after assuming control of the vessel were very disorientating. Confining. Stifling. Swirls of grace created static in the air around him, running beneath the skin of his vessel into every single cell and blood vessel. Three pairs of wings began to materialise at his back, grace crystalised and folded into glorious arches of colour and light. Interestingly, through the lens that was his vessel his wings became vaguely birdlike, even possessing identifiable feathers and patterning. Luckily, his six wings could be folded away, neatly out of human perception.

A sound called his attention. Claire Novak, the other vessel, stood in the doorway. He dismissed her quickly. Castiel needed to make contact with Dean Winchester. Claire Novak would be safe residing with her mother, under the guardianship of Heaven. Later, one of his more patient warriors could be assigned to watch over them more closely. Zaroskiel, perhaps.

_Castiel! Castiel, we summon you!_

Well, that was well-timed.

Castiel flew to Dean Winchester with a thought. The barn was coated with a great many sigils, protective wards against all the most common and many more uncommon monsters from around the world. Wards against thoughtforms, rogue spirits, demons, basilisks and even yowies made the barn glow with the ethereal. Castiel was glad they were not thorough enough to use angel warding, though he doubted they knew any. The practice had been lost centuries ago during one of the fires of London.

Striding forwards, the doors burst open with less than a thought. Dean, and another human immediately began to fire. The bullets were harmless against him, of course, but the reaction to shoot first when dealing with unknown supernatural creatures was a good one. Castiel continued until he stood before them. Dean’s eyes were wide, the edges of uncertainty creeping across his thoughts.

Castiel could feel the edges of a smile tug at the lips of his vessel. Dean recognised him.

 “Who are you?”

“I’m the one who gripped you tight, and raised you from perdition.”

“Yeah, thanks for that.”

Dean’s mind went silent, giving Castiel less than a second of warning before the attack. He considered avoiding the knife. It would be easy, merely a flick of his wings. But it wasn’t as if the knife could possibly harm him. Why expend the effort? Particularly since Dean still believed Castiel to be some simple monster, easily hunted and destroyed. Dean knew that, deep within his soul. Castiel could already see how it recognised his presence. It was equally obvious Dean did not trust the sensation. It was understandable. Many monsters possessed the ability to influence human emotion, and all Dean knew of Castiel was that he had burned out the eyes of a psychic.

Castiel held still. It was only in the last microsecond before impact that he remembered to remove the invulnerability granted to his vessel by grace. The demon-slaying knife was a powerful artefact. Castiel would not see it destroyed or Dean injured.

The blade penetrated the chest cavity of his vessel smoothly, sinking to the hilt. Dean froze, backing away as he realised how little it affected him. Standing behind them, Castiel noticed as Bobby Singer moved to attack, turning to catch his weapon and immobilise the man.

Dean hesitated as Castiel stepped away from him, eyes flicking to Bobby and then Castiel, as if asking about the protocol in this situation. A moment later, he crouched by Bobby Singer, checking all his vital signs.

Castiel waited.

“What did you do?” Dean’s tone was sharp, but it was clear from the colour of his thoughts that he was afraid.

“Your friend is alive.”

“Yeah, thanks, I know. Who are you?”

“Castiel.”

“Well, obviously. I mean what are you?”

“I am an angel of the Lord.”

“No way in hell. Angels aren’t real.”

“That’s your problem, Dean. You have no faith.”

Mindful of his earlier attempts at communication, Castiel did not make any aspect of himself – his true self, not quite yet folded fully within his vessel – visible to humans. Instead, he raised one pair of wings, manipulating the light around them to create voids filled with shadow. Admittedly, triggering explosions of lightning at the same time was a little theatrical, but Dean had to understand what he was dealing with.

Dean swallowed, before his anxiety visibly faded. His thoughts grew calmer.

“You burned out Pamela’s eyes.”

“I warned her not to spy on my true form, multiple times. The true form of an angel can be…overwhelming to humans, as can our true voices. You know this already.”

“The gas station, and the motel? That was you talking? Buddy, next time lower the volume.”

Castiel dropped his eyes, abashed. He had been too eager to speak with Dean, excited for Dean to know him, so much so that he forgot how rare it was for any human to be able to perceive angels at all. It had nearly deafened the man. Even now, there was still some damage to Dean’s ears from his last attempt at speaking. Castiel had to remember to heal that before they separated tonight.

“That was my mistake. Certain people, special people, can perceive my true visage. I had thought you would be one of them. I was wrong.”

“Visage.” There was an odd tone to Dean’s voice. “What visage are you now, then, some sort of holy tax accountant?”

“This? This is… a vessel.”

 “You’re possessing some poor bastard?” Dean snarled. Abruptly, Castiel found himself trying to justify his actions.

“He’s a devout man, he actually prayed for this.”

“No. People don’t…no, I’m not buying what you’re selling. Who are you really?”

“I told you.”

“Right. Angel. And why would an angel rescue me from Hell?” Dean’s thoughts flickered to the moment he broke, the moment he picked up the knife and left the rack. Hundreds, thousands of souls crossed his mind, each victim seared into his memory. Castiel stepped closer, tempted to scatter the memories away if only to relieve Dean’s guilt for a few minutes. Dean’s eyes found his own – wide, worried, not nearly as antagonistic as he felt Dean wanted to be.

“Good things do happen, Dean.”

“Not in my experience.”

“What’s the matter? You don’t think you deserve to be saved?”

Dean swallowed, glancing away for a second. Shame suffused the Righteous Man, accompanied by a great wave of worthlessness. Dean truly believed it. He truly believed he should have been left in Hell to burn. This wasn’t merely some stain of infernal smoke left to fester on his soul, Castiel had been very thorough. Dean was hopeless, and he didn’t trust that anyone could find some value in him. It was absurd and tragic at the same time.

This would take more than mere words to counter.

“Why’d you do it?”

“Because God commanded it. Because we have work for you.”

And if perhaps during the course of Heaven’s missions and tests and assignments Castiel was able to find some way to impress on Dean just how very good and vital he was, then Castiel would count it as a victory. Dean was Castiel’s charge now, to guard and care for. He would not fail.


	3. Chapter 3

Being in a human vessel was odd. Castiel was a being of light and energy, yet while possessing a human there was the irrepressible urge to identify as “he”. It was entirely inaccurate. He was genderless, as were all angels, but there it was. He. Castiel had never been a he before. Perhaps there were more accurate pronouns, but he found he enjoyed this set. There was something nearly illicit about it, about referring to himself as such.

Uriel did not share his sentiment. Pronouns were too human, a sign of the celestial becoming mundane. That opinion was popular with Zachariah, too. It made Castiel uneasy, to hear them talk. It was dangerously anti-human, the kind of talk that led to accusations of sympathising with Lucifer, and while he did not particularly care for Zachariah, Uriel was a good friend. Castiel would hate for Uriel’s sentiment to be heard by the wrong ears. Sympathy for the Devil was cause enough to strip an angel’s position and domains.

Overall, Castiel sort-of liked being vessel-bound, although it always made his wings feel weird. Of course, he was limited to the visible electromagnetic spectrum, and he couldn’t hear the ripples of time across space anymore, and even the choirs of Heaven were muted to the point that he required direct contact to hear anything more than a sort of hum, but it was still enjoyable. Before taking his first vessel nearly 360 million years ago – a female Ichthyostega, an amphibian-like creature whose species was the ancestor to most land animals – Castiel had no idea how to taste or smell or touch. Such fascinating ways to interpret the stimuli of the world around them. After leaving her, he was able to recreate the sensations using grace, to interpret airborne particles as their base molecules and assemble them in something that resembled a scent, but without possession of olfactory organs the process was really no different than seeing the electromagnetic signature and atomic structure of a particle. He knew he wasn’t the only angel afflicted with “phantom” senses, long after leaving a vessel.

There had been many vessels after that, but he still had his favourites. Ichthyostega. Archaeothyris. Cynognathus. Volaticotherium.

Human vessels were different. Of course, every species of vessel was different, but humans in particular. Most of their senses were very poor, and they relied heavily on sight and sound. Their natural defences and weaponry were almost ineffective, but it was made up for by their extreme endurance and skill with toolmaking. They were adept communicators – even children began to craft new “secret” languages and codes. They also had the most evolved souls of any creatures in creation, souls so advanced that his Father had elevated humans as being above angelkind. It made possession a very different process.

For one thing, possessing a human needed permission. They were headstrong, tenacious little creatures, and Castiel was sure that even if God hadn’t given them the ability of free will, they would have stolen it for themselves, struggling tooth and nail. With a strong will, a human could deny even the most powerful angel. Even the act of closing their eyes, that little act of will, was enough to protect them from the raw power of grace. Theoretically, a human could even use their free will to resist an angel’s ability to heal or manipulate the body.

Of course, there had never been an opportunity to test that theory before now, though Castiel would not be the one to try and pit his will against a human’s lack of consent. The very idea was ghastly.

Ideally, the relationship between an angel and a human vessel should be a partnership. At least that was the impression Michael gave, speaking as if the vessel and angel should be completely in harmony. After only a few days possessing Jimmy Novak, it was clearly a romanticised vision. The strain hosting an angel was putting on Jimmy Novak was phenomenal, enough that Jimmy was barely conscious. Castiel hoped, for his sake, that their need for vessels would not last too long into the future. It would not take much to cause permanent damage to the humans who so graciously allowed them permission to use their vessels.

At this rate, things weren’t looking good for an early reprieve. Less than half of the warriors under Castiel’s guidance had found their vessels during the past few years. It was a serious limitation. Protecting the seals required finesse. Without a vessel, an angel fighting on a human-scale battlefield would be lucky if all they did was reduce it to ash. Reviving Dean had flattened the trees around his grave, and attempts to speak to him shattered glass and masonry. An act of aggression could destroy a small town, killing every inhabitant.

Castiel worked with what he had. Any warrior without a vessel was assigned to watch from Heaven, either guarding found vessel bloodlines or seals with set locations. From above, it was much easier to keep track. Each watcher remained in constant contact with two or three vessel-bound angels, ready to call them should anything happen. Luckily, many of Castiel’s lieutenants had discovered their vessels, allowing the more powerful and strategically valuable angels to walk the Earth. It made things easier.

The week following Dean’s resurrection was hectic. As Captain, nearly five thousand angels now fell under his command, many of which needed to be re-assigned either because of deaths or unsuitability for the upcoming fights. Additionally, there were rumours that Alistair was topside allied with Lilith. Demons were beginning to mobilise on a global scale, jumping from vessel to vessel as the angels tracked them. Attacks were quick and brutal, leaving no human survivors. Their aim seemed to be to create havoc and distract from possible seals. Frustratingly, his superiors – bureaucrats from Heaven with no knowledge of real combat! – did not allow interference in any demon activity unless it could be proven to be related to the upcoming apocalypse. Surprisingly little actually fit into that category, to hear Zachariah talk. As the angel was the liaison between the Archangels and the garrison, Castiel couldn’t exactly argue. Zachariah’s words might as well be from Michael, or even from God. It was impossible to tell.

Still, the two watchers assigned to observe the Winchester brothers kept him informed.

Castiel flew to Dean at his first free moment.

Dean was sleeping.

In his sleep, he looked peaceful. Younger. It was odd, considering the turmoil of his mind. Flashes of Hell mixed with memories of every single hunt gone wrong, every single cruel word and self-recrimination. Nightmares, spiralling around him. Castiel could nearly taste the isolation around him, the lonely ache despite the family that surrounded him. Dean would not burden them with his bad memories, would hide their very existence first, and leave himself trapped at their mercy. His soul, that part that recognised Castiel’s presence, it cried out for him to intervene.

Castiel could. 

Michael’s vessel or not, Solitude was one of the domains Castiel ruled over. Castiel could offer succor to any being trapped and isolated. He did not require Zachariah’s permission.

It took barely an effort to calm Dean’s dreams, to wash away the influence of Hell. Dean’s soul entangled with his grace in some affectionate way as he retreated, like squeezing fingers as they slipped from your grasp.

Castiel’s breaths were coming heavier. With a twitch of his wings, he fled to the kitchen.

_“Castiel?”_

The angels set to watching.

“Zaririel. Myrmiddiazar. Take a break. I’ll tell you when I am done here.”

Castiel felt the moment Heaven’s eyes turned away. He sighed, relaxing minutely. Somehow, knowing the other angels were watching his interactions with Dean, it felt almost like they were intruding. It was absurd. Privacy barely existed among angels. They were in constant contact with each other, forming a network linking all of Heaven.  Even now, when no angel in particular was listening to Castiel or watching him, he could hear status reports from several of his lieutenants.

Why did time spent near Dean feel almost private? Was it embarrassment at his reaction to Dean? Ananchel wouldn’t have been flustered by the sound of Dean’s soul smiling. Uriel wouldn’t have acted to heal him. Was he…was he nervous around Dean? Why? He was merely a human, even if a remarkable one. He could see the way Dean’s soul shimmered even from here, the way colours flashed across it reflecting his Grace.

It must be their bond. The bond of having crafted Dean’s new body, of lifting his soul from the Pit, of refusing to leave a soul alone and afraid. That was all. Leftover remnants of Castiel’s Grace humming in the man’s blood, kept alive by the sigils burnt into Dean’s shoulder.

Dean’s breath grew quicker, and he shifted to sit up. After checking on his brother, the human approached. He seemed cautious, despite the trust Castiel knew he felt.

“Excellent job with the witnesses.”

Dean nearly seemed to startle, as if Castiel’s voice was too loud against the quiet of the house. He stepped closer, shoulders squared in some attempt at intimidation.

“You were hip to all this?”

“I was, uh, made aware.”

Amazing how quickly Dean’s mind was flooded with indignation, flickering over memories of the past few days. Castiel felt a similar irritation grow as he noted how close Dean had come to dying over the past few days. Myrmiddiazar hadn’t mentioned that detail in his report.

“Well thanks a lot for the angelic assist. You know, I almost got my heart ripped out of my chest.”

“But you didn’t.” Because Dean was an excellent hunter with great resources to draw on. It could have easily gone the other way, as it had for the twenty hunters previous. Heaven had done nothing to prevent the death of the man still so recently rescued from Hell. Neither of his watchers had even warned Castiel that Dean was fighting against the rising of the witnesses until after the event, despite Castiel’s orders.

“I thought angels were supposed to be guardians. Fluffy wings, halos – you know, Michael Landon. Not dicks.”

Various caricatures of angelkind flickered across Dean’s thoughts, all white feathers and soft voices and demure smiles and gentle harp music, it was practically obscene. It was nearly enough to make his skin crawl. Was that really how humans saw them these days? Docile shepherds whose entire purpose was devoted to guiding humanity to a better future? Angels were immense, as fierce and immutable as nature itself. Not – that.

“Read the Bible. Angels are warriors of God. I’m a soldier.”

“Yeah? Then why didn’t you fight?”

“I’m not here to perch on your shoulder!” The irony of having two of his subordinates watching over Dean did not escape him. “We had larger concerns.”

“Concerns? There were people getting torn to shreds down here! And by the way, while all this was going on, where the hell is your boss, huh, if there is a God?”

“There’s a God.”

“I’m not convinced. ‘cause if there’s a God, what the hell is he waiting for, huh? Genocide? Monsters roaming the earth? The fucking apocalypse? At what point does he lift a damn finger and help the poor bastards living down here? Where’s his goddamn compassion?”

“The Lord works—”

“If you say ‘mysterious ways’, so help me, I will kick your ass.”

Castiel shrugged, turning away. Suddenly it seemed ludicrous. Dean was repeating near every doubt, every one of Castiel’s questions, spouting them off like there were simple, reasonable answers. As if he was the first to wonder why God forbade Heaven to intervene on Earth. As if he was the first to cry out for salvation and be ignored. This righteous soul that could not believe a God could possibly exist and ignore the suffering in the world, because Dean would not. Dean would never.

Castiel was smiling as he found Dean’s eyes again. This brilliant, indignant little soul that demanded God act better, that God hold himself to the same standards Dean did. He was such a force for good, and the tragedy of it was most of the time he didn’t even realise, because his ideal was to be even better than any man could reasonably manage. To save people more quickly. To help people be stronger.

Dean blinked, eyes going wide as he realised he had just threatened to fight an angel. Worried Castiel might think him too rude, too disrespectful. Castiel nearly laughed. Dean swallowed, but seemed to realise just how unoffended Castiel was, if the release of tension in his shoulders was any indication.

“So…,” Dean began. “Bobby was right, about the witnesses. This is some kind of a…sign of the apocalypse.”

“That’s why we’re here. Big things afoot.”

“Do I want to know what kind of things?”

“I sincerely doubt it, but it is necessary you know. The rising of the witnesses was one of the sixty-six seals.”

“Okay. I’m guessing that’s not the kind of seal they have at Seaworld.”

“The seals are being broken by Lilith.”

Dean’s eyes grew sharp.

“She did the spell. She rose the witnesses.”

“Mm-hmm. And not just here. Twenty other hunters have died in the past week.” Not to mention the other two seals and all the humans that had died to fulfil them. Week one, and already the demons were pulling ahead.

“Of course. She picked victims hunters couldn’t save. They’d barrel right after us, take out some of her enemies while she’s at it.”

“Lilith had a certain sense of humour.”

“Well, at least we put those spirits back to rest.” Dean shrugged. Oh, if only it were that simple.

“It doesn’t matter. The seal was broken, and that cannot be undone.” Castiel explained. Dean grimaced in response, rubbing at the back of his neck. A moment later, he spoke.

“Why even go after these seals in the first place?”

“You can think of the seals as locks on a door.”

“Okay. Last one opens and…”

“Lucifer walks free.”

There was disbelief, at first. Some sort of exasperation over Castiel’s so-called prank. That quickly fell away before Dean’s pessimism. Of course Lucifer was real. If angels were going around freeing people from Hell, then of course the literal Devil was real. Dean couldn’t get that lucky. All of this in the space of a second. By the time Dean spoke again, he was nearly convinced already, perfectly willing to trust Castiel knew what he was talking about. Worried about the fact that he trusted Castiel. Back to normal, then.

“Lucifer? But I thought Lucifer was just a story they tell at demon Sunday school. There’s no such thing.”

“A week ago, you thought there was no such thing as me. Why do you think we’re walking among you for the first time in two thousand years?”

“To stop Lucifer.”

“That’s why we’ve arrived.”

“Well…” Dean’s anger was back. Castiel felt his hackles rise in response, wings spread in a display Dean couldn’t see before he even began to speak. “Bang up job so far. Stellar work with the witnesses. That’s nice.”

His voice was dripping with disdain. That same petulance that demanded Heaven’s attention, Castiel’s attention, blaming him for the deaths of the other hunters. The other humans.

Castiel had had enough.

“We tried. Do you think this is the only battle? The only seal? Some we’ll win, some we’ll lose. This time, we lost.” Castiel stepped closer, backing Dean into the countertop. “Our numbers are not unlimited. Six of my brothers died in the field this week, dozens more during the struggle to rescue you. My family, dying for our cause. Do you think the armies of Heaven should just follow you around? There’s a bigger picture here, beyond you and your hunter friends.”

Dean swallowed, as if searching for words. Castiel didn’t allow him to speak, pressing closer again until only inches lay between them. He could feel his Grace swirling with his ire, creating static in the air.

“You should show me some respect. I dragged you out of Hell. I can throw you back in.”

Dean flinched.

Castiel froze, before flying from the room. A brief command set the watchers back to their posts.

That had been too far. He wouldn’t – he would never cast Dean back into Hell. Never. He shouldn’t have threatened it. Dean was frustrating, yes, but he was only repeating doubts Castiel himself had. He was upset about the deaths of his friends, as Castiel was about his kin. That was no reason to threaten, especially with Dean so recently rescued from Hell.

For his Father’s sake! – Castiel was meant to be establishing a rapport with the elder brother! To gain his trust so as to explain his part in the Apocalypse. He was better than this! He wasn’t one to let emotional swings influence his ability as a soldier.

The atmosphere here was calming, at least. Castiel recognised it as Dean’s grave. The location he’d risen from only a week ago. The area was still crawling with celestial radiation, wasted scraps of his own Grace that had sunk into the earth or been absorbed by the plant life.

Right.

He needed to focus. He needed to focus on the upcoming battles, to do his part as Captain of the Earthly Garrison. Castiel alone was leading the war as it was on Earth, co-ordinating all the forces seeking to protect the seals.

His duties to Dean could not distract him. He wouldn’t allow it.

Dean would just have to survive without his interference.

* * *

 

It wasn’t much later before Heaven required him to return to Dean’s side. As fate would have it, the elder Winchester was once again dreaming, lost in a world of night terrors and infernal smoke. A model soldier this time, he resisted the urge to rid Dean of his bad dreams. Heaven was watching, and they would not overlook such an unnecessary waste of power. Zachariah’s reprimand for speaking to Dean without supervision was still ringing in his ears.

Although, he did have to wonder if Dean’s dreams were partially his fault for implying Dean was not safe from Hell without serving Heaven. Bad enough Dean’s memories of the place, Castiel could not go about creating doubt in his thoughts. Doubts like that could eat away at the mind, spawning fears and anger.

Would Dean trust an apology? Now the idea was planted, would that be enough to uproot it? From what he knew of Dean, probably not. He found it far too easy to believe the worst of those he met, despite desperately wishing for the best.

In the end, it didn’t matter because mere minutes after Castiel arrived Dean awoke anyway. He was as surly as he ever was around relative strangers, although Castiel got the impression that it was an act to cover up vulnerability at being caught asleep rather than genuine dislike.

In the second before he dragged Dean tumbling back through time, Castiel wondered why exactly his superiors felt the need put Dean through this particular test. They already had a very good idea of how Dean was going to react. Wasn’t a near complete catalogue of his every action since the death of his mother enough? Any angel in Dean’s presence would be able to sense how uncorrupted Dean was from his time in Hell, and already he had excellently put to sleep the witnesses.  

Surely there was a better way to spend their efforts than sending Dean back through time. He wouldn’t be able to make any meaningful changes while trapped in the past, not with Castiel watching, so obviously this was merely a thinly veiled premise to display the majesty of angelic power. They were already fairly certain of the relationship between the Campbells and the demon Azazel, so Dean’s efforts would merely be to confirm a working theory. Honestly, it would be a lot less fuss just to send an angel back alone to observe more closely. Such an unnecessary risk, simply to prove Dean’s reactions under odd circumstances.

The actual travel went quickly, Dean’s body and soul held close within the folds of his wings as they tumbled through time. Understandably, Dean fainted. Even shielded from the raw currents of time, it was not an experience humans were designed for.

Gently, Castiel laid him out across a bench during an eternal second. Dean awoke almost immediately this time, quickly finding his bearings and setting off to explore this strange yet familiar town.

Castiel, out of his correct time, had little to do but watch. Somewhere over the North Atlantic, his past self was leading a small strike force against a sea daeva, a demon formed after the death of a great ocean predator many millions of years ago. If he was remembering correctly, and of course he was, this particular daeva had once been a megalodon shark, one that now terrorised small seacraft. Ananchel was still alive and serving Heaven, though only for a few years more.

Watching Dean begin to stalk his one-day father, Castiel judged it time to intervene. Somehow, that once again turned into Dean standing only inches away from Castiel.

The relief that washed across his mind was kind of nice, though.

“What is this?”

Really? “What does it look like?”

“Is it real?”

“Very.”

Oh. Oh no. No, Dean couldn’t try to change the course of history, even if it was to save his mother. He couldn’t get his hopes up like this. Didn’t he realise that any change at this point would result in an alternate future? One where he didn’t exist?

Of course he realised. Dean was an intelligent man. He simply didn’t care, if it would save his family.

And it would never work anyway because Castiel was here to ensure things happened as they had.

“Dean. You have to stop it.”

“Stop what? Huh? Is there a creature round here or something?”

If only he could answer in full. Zachariah had been very exact in his orders this time.

The sound of a car distracted Dean, and Castiel slipped back into the ether, retreating to watch as the Righteous Man sought his father. He watched as Dean met his mother, watched as Dean’s heart broke meeting the grandparents he’d never even heard of. Watched as Dean watched them, soaking up every little action and expression as if preparing for a drought.

This was cruel. Exposing the people behind the more abstract concepts of family, the people Dean longed to have known for most of his life, people he had no chance at all of saving. Letting Dean know them, imagine how different a life he would have had had they survived, only to snatch it away again. Heaven’s design was no better than a djinn, teasing a false world.

Dean’s thoughts were still spinning around the idea of having a whole family of hunters, when Castiel flew to the passenger seat of the car. The man startled at his sudden appearance, before once again relaxing.

“So what? God’s my co-pilot, is that it?”

Castiel turned to regard the man. His thoughts were beginning to twist with nerves, worries that he wouldn’t find the colt in time, worries that Castiel had returned to send him back to the future so soon after meeting his family. Guilt that Sam wasn’t here too to meet them, because at least Dean had already had memories of his mother. What did Sam have of her, beside her father’s name?

“You had to do this alone, Dean.” The words were leaving his mouth before he could think, aiming to reassure. Why should Dean feel guilty for Heaven’s machinations?

“And you don’t think Sam’s tearing up the future looking for me now?”

“Sam’s not looking for you.”

Dean had no answer for that. Apparently he had noticed a difference in Sam since his revival, an angry bitterness and independence that left Sam spitting at him. Dean put the thought aside, buried it as he was wont to do. It didn’t matter, not until they returned to the present.

“If I do this, the family curse breaks, right? Mom and Dad live happily ever after, and – and Sam and I grow up playing little league and chasing tail?”

Castiel could not allow him to break the “curse”. He could taste Dean’s hope, his longing, and he had to ignore it. Sabotage any of Dean’s efforts if they seemed effective. Mislead him if needed, all to test his responses for Heaven to record like some lab rat. Because of course this was the reason they were back here, subject to Zachariah’s sadism. In order to test Dean’s ethics.

“You realize, if you do alter the future, your father, you and Sam – you’ll never become hunters. All those people you saved will die.” Of course, Castiel left off the part where Dean himself would never be aware of an alternate version of the future, and the apocalypse would be some point in the distant future, probably led by Dean’s grandchildren.

“I realize.”

“And you don’t care?”

“Oh, I care. I care a lot, but these are my parents. I’m not going to let them die again. Not if I can stop it.”

As he left Dean to drive on in peace, Castiel wondered if valuing close family over all of humanity would be seen as a positive or negative to Michael.

Things began to go wrong very quickly after that. By the end of the night, Castiel knew the exact terms of Mary’s contract with Azazel, a rare turn of circumstance where the labours of Heaven – in particular Heaven’s cherubs – would be used to further the dealings of Hell. Azazel was feeding infants demon blood in order to create demonic psychics.

Dean stood forlorn as he gazed over to Mary and the newly alive John. Already the self-recriminations were beginning, biting into his soul like blood-sucking insects.

Enough.

Snapping into place beside Dean, Castiel touched his shoulder, instantly healing his physical wounds as his wings wrapped around him protectively. A second later and they were back in current times, maybe only a few minutes after they had left.

He spun in Castiel’s grasp.

“I couldn’t stop any of it. She still made the deal. She still died in the nursery, didn’t she?”

“Don’t be too hard on yourself. You could never have stopped it.” Not with Castiel working against him, leading him into the same steps he’d always made. This whole endeavour had been nothing more than false hope and painful truths.

Castiel could trace the exact moment Dean processed his words. It was the same moment his grieving soul recoiled, shaking off any remaining tendril of Castiel’s grace. His wings bunched close to his back, three sets overlapping. He understood it, but the rejection still hurt.

“What?”

“Destiny can’t be changed, Dean. All roads lead to the same destination.”

“Then why’d you send me back?” There was very nearly a wobble in Dean’s voice, barely perceptible. Castiel ignored it.

“For the truth. Now you know everything we do.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

Castiel indicated the empty bed on the other side of the room. Dean really seemed to notice now that Sam wasn’t here. His thoughts sharpened, shifting into some instinctive mode shaped around a single thought. Protect Sammy. Save your brother.

“Where’s Sam?”

“We know what Azazel did to your brother. What we don’t know is why, what his endgame is. He went to great lengths to cover that up.”

“Where’s Sam? Tell me!”

“425 Waterman.”

Dean stormed past, grabbing his coat and keys. Castiel spoke up as he reached the door.

“Your brother is headed down a dangerous road, Dean, and we’re not sure where it leads. So stop it. Or we will.”

Dean seemed to acknowledge the point, and then he was gone in a flurry of bad temper.

Castiel didn’t move for the first few seconds after he left, as Zachariah summoned him to report on Dean’s progress. For some reason, he just felt heavy.


	4. Chapter 4

There was not much in the way of free time anymore, but Castiel still tried to watch Dean Winchester whenever possible. Uriel noticed, of course, as did Zachariah. Since it had no impact on the quality of his leadership in the war to protect the seals, it wasn’t raised as a concern.

Castiel ignored them. The fighting was constant, and difficult, and his forces were spread too thinly. Less than half of his garrison had been able to acquire vessels, leaving roughly two thousand warriors ready for field duty. With more than six hundred possible seals, many of which could be fulfilled in a myriad of ways at hundreds of locations, defending every one of them was an impossible task. What did it matter that he chose to rest nearby the Righteous Man? All in Heaven were watching his actions, eager for the moment he would accept his fate as Michael’s vessel. If Castiel was successful, Dean would never need to succumb before Heaven was victorious.

After the latest battle, a skirmish in a small Nigerian village terrorised by demons, Castiel found the Winchesters in Colorado.

Dean was alone. Distressed. Some foreign contaminant was discolouring his soul, woven like thorny vines around his head and getting tighter. Fear was sending him into ever more dangerous irrationalities, and his eyes flickered between imagined foes. For some reason, they skipped over Castiel.

Alarmed, Castiel moved closer, ready to intervene. Except, was he allowed? Myrmiddiazar was watching from Heaven, and though he was meant to report Dean’s behaviour directly to Castiel (why had he kept silent about Dean’s state, again?), he would definitely report any of Castiel’s actions regarding the man as well. Zachariah wasn’t pleased that he had spent any time alone with the Righteous Man as it was, and it was easy to see what currently afflicted him was not demonic or celestial. Castiel had no jurisdiction for interfering.

He stepped back.

Zaririel confirmed that Sam was nearby, and searching for a solution to this ghost sickness. Before him, Dean whimpered, trying to push away an invisible assailant. His heart, already racing, sped even faster as his breathing became erratic. Castiel clenched his fists. He could not cleanse Dean’s sickness. Not until the final second, when death was certain.

“Y-y-you are n-not real.”

He could barely get the words out between gasps, clutching at his chest. Desperately, he was trying to calm his panicked mind, slow his heartbeat into something less dangerous. As it was, Castiel estimated he had only a few minutes left before a blood vessel ruptured or an aneurysm formed. Only a few minutes before he could intercede. Only a few more minutes watching Dean scrabbling for air, eyes wild with fear. A few more endless minutes and Castiel could fix this.

Abruptly, Dean relaxed. His heartrate began to drop, and his breathing calmed. The ghostly contaminant dissolved into the air.

Sam must have been successful.

Dean remained sprawled across the floor for many minutes, just relaxing and semi-conscious. Castiel wasn’t sure what to do. Obviously, Dean had no need for his assistance anymore, but it felt wrong to let him recover alone and unsupervised. What if the stress of the ghost sickness had caused him more permanent health problems? He wasn’t out of danger yet, and in no position to fight off an enemy.

Already he’d stayed longer than he’d intended, only wanting to check in briefly before debriefing his team and receiving Revelation as to his next commands. He could feel Myrmiddiazar’s eyes.

It hadn’t been much longer when Sam returned, Bobby Singer beside him. Castiel, hidden by bending light around his vessel, found he could delay no longer. Dean was fine. He was with loved ones. The danger had passed.

Castiel left rapidly, settling at his favourite viewpoint in the Shawnee National Park. He told himself he wasn’t fleeing, but wasn’t entirely sure he believed that.

* * *

 

Zaririel called his attention as Castiel was mid-battle. Apparently the Winchesters had come across a witch during the lead up to Halloween, and all signs pointed to preparation for a summoning. Specifically, the summoning of the demon Samhain. Busy as he was, and with their forces stretched so thinly, Castiel was unable to attend to the matter immediately.

Given a moment of quiet, Castiel sought Revelation, sending his awareness forth and upwards to connect once more with Heaven above. Song burst across his awareness, bright and sacred and so dearly missed since taking a vessel. Listening to Heaven-song, you couldn’t hear the individual clashes, disharmonies and tensions. The segments repeated note for note sounded beautiful instead of forced.

Zachariah’s voice called his attention. The angel growled, angry that Castiel hadn’t been immediately available to contact.

Castiel withheld his response. Zachariah wasn’t always the most reasonable, especially concerning the regard of higher ranking angels.

Information filtered down. Michael wished to test his vessel? Again? Weren’t Dean’s achievements so far an accurate record of his ability? Nevertheless, he had his orders. Uriel was also between missions, and as a specialist at controlled destruction at a large scale, perfect for this particular job. Castiel only wished he could find the other angel in a less cantankerous mood. Knowing Uriel’s distaste for humans and the Earth in general, he didn’t imagine he would be so lucky.

* * *

 

Sam was the one to open the hotel door, immediately shifting into a fighting stance as he recognised an intruder. Castiel smiled. Just like his brother, his first response was to shoot.

“Sam! Sam, wait! It’s Castiel.”

His smile grew fonder at Dean’s voice. Uriel scowled, grace shifting restlessly. It attracted Dean’s attention on some level. Interesting.

“Him I don’t know.”

Standing, Castiel turned to regard his charge and the other vessel. Sam appeared in awe, stumbling over his words as he offered a hand – apparently an offer to shake? Castiel had seen weirder human greetings.

“Sam Winchester, the boy with the demon blood.” Sam flinched as he spoke. Had Castiel offended him somehow? He’d merely been stating facts, although, yes, Sam was now suffused with shame. Perhaps that was to their advantage. Sometimes shame was enough to prevent particular behaviours, and it could only be a good thing if Sam never drank demon blood again. “We’re glad you’ve ceased your extra-curricular activites.”

Uriel snorted. Unseen to the humans, Castiel cuffed him with the edge of one wing in response. They were on a mission, representing Heaven and God himself. The least Uriel could do was be polite.

Dean stepped closer, turning his body to face Uriel in a defensive posture. Obviously he didn’t trust the other angel.

“Who’s your friend?”

“The rising of Samhain, you’ve stopped it?” Castiel asked.

“Why?” Dean hedged.

“Dean. Have you located the witch?”

“Yes, we’ve located the witch.”

“And the witch is dead?”

“No, but—“

“—we know who it is.” Sam interrupted.

Amusement was radiating off Uriel like smoke, accompanied by an air of contempt. Castiel ignored him, walking over to display the inactive hex bags he’d recovered from the walls. Dean and Sam glanced to each other, chagrined.

“Apparently, the witch knows you too. If we had not arrived, one or both of you would be dead by now. I hope you know where the witch is now.”

“We’re working on it.”

Uriel seemed to be finding this funnier and funnier. The other angel was a dear friend, and excellent at destruction – forest fires and tsunamis fell under his purview, and they were domains he took very seriously – but nearly every other flight lieutenant Castiel knew would have treated the Winchesters with more respect. To be so excited at the idea of obliterating a town – it was very nearly the opposite of their purpose as guardians of God’s creation.

“That’s unfortunate.”

“What do you care?”

“The rising of Samhain is one of the 66 seals.”

“So it’s about your buddy Lucifer.”

“Lucifer is no friend of ours!” Uriel’s voice was laced with venom as he glared at Dean. Dean, in all his wisdom, actually seemed pleased to have evoked such a strong reaction. Castiel was simply surprised Uriel had failed to grasp the satirical intent behind Dean’s phrasing, he hadn’t exactly hidden it.

“It’s just an expression.”

He had to get them back on track before Dean and Uriel became stuck in a contest of mutual antagonisation. Shifting slightly, he caught Dean’s eyes, drawing his gaze away from the other angel. He had to impress the importance of this mission on him.

“Lucifer cannot be allowed to rise. The breaking of the seal must be prevented at any cost.”

“Okay, great.” He paused, licking his lips in a show of nerves. “Now you’re here why don’t you tell us where she is, we can go gank her, and everybody goes home.”

 “We are not omniscient!” Castiel growled, frustration. “This witch is very powerful, she is cloaked from even our methods.”

“Okay, well we already know who she is, so if we work together –“

“Enough of this nonsense.”

Castiel sighed. Uriel, in all his superiority and rage, moved away from the window to stand across from the Winchesters. Castiel turned, glaring at the insubordinate angel from beside the brothers.

Apparently, Dean had had enough too.

“Alright, who the fuck are you, and why the fuck should I care?”

“You let these monkeys speak so coarsely in the presence of the divine, Castiel?”

“I don’t care if you’re an angel or not – I will shoot you.”

Castiel reached out to grasp Dean’s shoulder firmly, above the place where Dean’s soulscar met flesh. Dean calmed slightly at the touch, nearly pressing back into it before he remembered himself and shrugged it off.

“Dean. This is Uriel. He’s a specialist.”

Unlike with their first meeting, Dean held no trust for Uriel at all, nearly bristling at his presence in the room. With the way Uriel was behaving, Castiel found it hard to blame him.

“What kind of specialist? What are you planning?”

“You – uh, both of you, that is – you need to leave this town immediately.” Castiel stated.

“Why?”

This required a delicate answer. Neither brother really subscribed to the biblical morality of sacrificing a few people to save many more, both clinging to the ideal of leaving the smallest amount of death and pain possible in a given situation. If anyone was to shoulder the risk and sacrifice, it was to be one of them.

Of course, Uriel chose that moment to speak.

“We’re about to destroy it.”

Castiel closed his eyes, bowing his head in frustration.

Of course Dean reacted predictably.

“You’re gonna smite a whole fuckin’ town?”

Perhaps he could still salvage things.

“Dean. We’re out of time. The witch needs to die. The seal must be saved.”

“There must be a thousand people here.”

“One thousand two hundred fourteen.” The glee with which Uriel spoke of the soon to be dead humans was touching on the edge of unholy. Only demons would rejoice in such rampant destruction of life. Castiel noted it, to examine later. His behaviour during this entire exchange had been decidedly antagonistic without cause. It was growing suspicious.

Dean, at a loss, turned to catch Castiel’s gaze. He seemed almost betrayed, eyes flooded with hurt and some awful empathy for the lives soon to be lost. Castiel swallowed, searching for a way to make the callous but thorough method seem more appealing, while still hoping Dean rejected it and killed the witch himself.

“Look. I understand this is regrettable.”

“Regrettable?” Dean repeated, his voice hollow.

“We have to hold the line. Too many seals have been broken already.” Unfortunately, it was very true.

“So you screw the pooch on some seals, and what? This town has to pay?”

“It’s the lives of one thousand against the lives of seven billion. There’s a bigger picture here.”

Any angel would be convinced by now of the efficacy of the plan. They would leave the town to die, convinced of the righteousness of their actions. Any angel except Castiel, apparently, who still hoped that despite his words urging otherwise, Dean would choose to save the lives of the people here.

“Lucifer cannot rise. He does and Hell rises with him. Is that something you’d risk?” Castiel asked.

There was something about Dean’s eyes that convinced Castiel there was a chance. Dean would fight, and fight again to preserve the lives of as many humans as possible. Even if it risked greater loss. Even if his chance of success was minimal. Even a single human death was too many for Dean to accept quietly.

Sam answered for Dean, assuring that they would be victorious, as if Castiel wasn’t already aware of the strong chance they would fail.

“We’re wasting our time with these mud monkeys.” Uriel growled. Castiel turned to face his partner, hesitating on the edge of leaving. Dean needed to verbally confirm his orders, such as they were, so that Uriel wouldn’t simply smite the town. Castiel was not sure he could prevent Uriel from attacking, but he would not disobey a direct order from Heaven.

“I’m sorry, but we have our orders.” Castiel added.

“No, you can’t do this! You’re angels, aren’t you supposed to be merciful?” Sam cried out.

“Says who?” Uriel retorted.

Castiel silenced the other angel with a look, before turning back to face Dean.

“We have no choice.”

“Of course you have a choice. I mean, come on, what? You’ve never questioned a crap order? What are you, a couple o’ hammers?”

“Look, even if you can’t understand it, have faith. The plan is just.” Castiel concluded.

Dean was aghast.

“How can you even say that?”

“Because it comes from Heaven. That makes it just.”

“Oh, it must be nice, to be so sure of yourselves.” Dean sneered.

He narrowed his eyes at the man. Stepping further into Dean’s space, Castiel addressed him with a sardonic tone to his voice, “Tell me, Dean, when your father gave you an order, didn’t you obey?”

Dean glared, drawing himself up. Was this it? Was his last jibe enough? Would Dean offer the town his protection?

“Well, sorry boys, looks like your plans have changed.” Dean drawled.

“You think you can stop us?” Uriel scoffed.

“No, but if you’re going to smite this town, you’re gonna have to smite us too, because we’re not leaving it. See, you went to the trouble of busting me out of Hell. I figure I’m worth something to the man upstairs. So you wanna waste me, go ahead and see how he likes it.”

“I will drag you out of here myself!”

“Yeah, but you’ll have to kill me, then we’re back to the same problem. I mean, come on, you’re going to wipe out a whole town for one little witch? Sounds like you’re compensating for something.”

How could one human be so – so brazen, in the presence of angels? Did he not understand how much more powerful Uriel was compared to him? Of course he did. He just didn’t care if it was to save the lives of the people of this town. The sentiment behind his action was rather admirable actually.

A shiver passed along Castiel’s wings, feathers shuffling against each other. Odd.

Dean turned away from Uriel, stepping closer until he was directly before Castiel.

“We can do this. We will find that witch and we will stop the summoning.” His mind was pleading, longing for Castiel’s trust. And why deny him?

“Castiel! I will not let these people—“

“Enough!”

Uriel knew their orders. Dean had made his will clear. They would wait. Dean would succeed here.

“I suggest you move quickly.”

It didn’t take long for events to begin to unravel. Uriel was restless, practically salivating to attack, and it took actually threatening to involve Heaven before the angel stood down. Castiel considered sending the angel back to heaven to be disciplined, once the mission was over. Insubordination could not be tolerated, especially if it interfered with a mission.

So close to the site of the seal, they both felt the moment it snapped open. Uriel snarled, three pairs of wings snapping wide. Castiel let the angel go. Technically, now that the seal was broken, their mission was complete. Castiel clenched his jaw, his own wings spreading wide. Children’s laughter and screams of joy echoed in the distance, soon to turn into cries of pain and horror. It was lucky that Halloween masks had become such a common American tradition.

Following the sound of Dean’s soul, Castiel found the brothers on the street, both faces smeared with blood. They quickly made their way to the Impala, driving in the direction of the cemetery.

Castiel could intervene now, should he choose. Dean’s order only covered until the summoning, which had since been completed. He nodded.

Flying ahead, he was in time to watch the demon Samhain leave several teenagers locked into the mausoleum, trapped with newly risen zombies.

Stepping into corporeality, Castiel unlocked the door with a flick of his fingers, sending the panicked teens upstairs and out just as the first of the zombies broke through the stone of his crypt. He blocked the entryway, drawing his blade as the zombies prepared to charge. At the same time he heard Dean and Sam arriving.

Castiel leapt forward, impaling two zombies in quick succession. The magic that animated them glowed briefly before the spell collapsed, sending them back to mere corpses.

“Help him!” Sam’s voice. Suddenly Dean was in battle beside him, stabbing a third zombie through the chest as another screeched, latching onto Castiel’s arm with a force that could break bones. Castiel threw it against the wall as Sam’s footsteps retreated, heading in the same direction as Samhain.

“You’re letting Sam confront Samhain alone?”

Another three zombies dragged themselves out of the crypt as he spoke.

Dean dodged an attack, coming to a stop with his back pressed to Castiel’s.

“You rather face fifteen zombies alone?”

Spinning, Castiel swept the new three into another group with one wing, leaving them all writhing in the corner of the room. In the same movement, he stabbed another through the eye socket as it attempted to attack Dean’s blind side. Dean threw off his latest foe, turning to find Castiel had blocked off the rest of the room with the shadows of his wings – all six this time.

“Dean. While I am grateful you would assist me, I am an angel. They are merely a nuisance to me.” As if to prove his point, one pf them lunged forwards at Dean, only to be rebuffed by his wings. Dean’s eyes grew wide, trailing across the seemingly insubstantial barrier as yet more zombies tried to attack through it.

“Dude!”

“Help your brother, Dean. I will dispose of these abominations.”

Dean hesitated a moment longer, before nodding and running off. Turning, Castiel did not allow any of the zombies to pursue him, using his grace to lock the zombies against the far wall. While his blade would effectively destroy any of them, it would be slow to take them out individually as he had been doing. His wings, usually his preferred option in combat against multiple opponents, were ineffective as weapons while he was vessel-bound. Fire was probably the best option.

Twisting his grace, pure flames began to grow out of the very air, fed by the energy of his grace and glowing bright white. The zombies screamed, imitations of human pain meant to illicit sympathy, but Castiel could sense the falseness of it. They were not truly alive at all.

After a few minutes, it was done. All of the risen monsters had been destroyed. Casting his awareness out, Castiel noticed he could no longer sense the presence of Samhain. The brothers had been successful.

As he left, one final string of grace swept the room back into the pristine state it had been in before, charred bodies now hidden within the crypts.

* * *

 

Castiel found Dean on a bench in the park. He seemed to sense his arrival, glancing over despite the fact that Castiel had made no noise.

“Let me guess, you’re here for the ‘I told you so’.” Dean sighed. Castiel smiled, staring out into the playground.

“Not unless you want me to.” Castiel replied.

“Nah. Not really that interested.”

“I’m not here to judge you, Dean.”

“Then why are you here?”

“Our orders –“

“You know, I’ve had just enough of your orders crap-“

“Our orders, Dean, weren’t to stop Samhain, they were to obey you.”

Dean paused.

“Your orders were to follow my orders?”

“It was a test, to see how you would perform under battlefield conditions.”

“So I failed. You know what? I don’t even care. All these people – that little girl, her parents, this whole town – if you’d had your way all of this would be gone.” Dean shifted, turning to face him more fully. Castiel mirrored him. “I don’t know what you guys are planning, what you need me for, but if you’re expecting me to just quietly go along with destroying whole towns, you’ve chosen the wrong guy.”

Castiel shook his head.

“You misunderstand me, Dean. I am not what you think. I was praying you would choose to save the town.”

“You were?”

Nodding once, he turned back to face the playground, watching as the children ran giggling, playing together under the watchful eyes of their parents. None of them had any idea how close they had come to death last night.

“These people, they’re all my Father’s creations. They’re works of art as much as the stars are, though infinitely more complex. You create your own intricate little worlds, you explore the cosmos, every one of you so vibrant, capable of so much brightness just as easily as dark. Still, Samhain walked free, the seal has fallen, and we are all one step closer to Hell on Earth in the most literal sense. You of all people must appreciate what that means.”

Dean grimaced, his thoughts flickering back over his memories from Hell.

“Well, at least you jumped in when we needed a hand. You’re a good warrior, Cas.”

“Thank you, Dean.” Castiel smiled. “As the Captain of all the angels garrisoned on Earth, I would hope so.”

Dean chuckled. “Just accept the compliment, no need to get all sarcastic.”

“You’re an adequate warrior too, I suppose.”

“Hey! I’m the world’s best hunter, bitch!”

“My apologies, Dean.” Castiel could feel the man smiling, the memories from Hell pushed aside for now. Good.

He paused, considering the wisdom of bringing up what he wanted to discuss. Sending his senses Heaven-ward, he searched for any angel listening closely to either his own words or Dean’s, satisfied to find none. Myrmiddiazar was absent at the moment, reporting observations of Dean’s performance to Zachariah to be compared with Uriel’s and Castiel’s reports. It was part of why he had chosen now to visit.

“Can I tell you something if you promise not to tell another soul?”

Dean was instantly attentive, drawn in either by the softness of his request or some other instinct.

“Sure.”

Castiel took a breath. Did he dare share this aloud?

“I’m not a… hammer as you say. I have questions. I have doubts. Many of them the very same you ask of me. I don’t know what’s right or wrong anymore, if Heaven’s actions can truly be justified. I don’t know whether you passed or failed here, but I don’t doubt they will want to test you again. This is only the beginning. In the coming months, you’ll have more decisions to make, all potentially as disastrous as this could have been. I don’t envy the weight that’s on your shoulders, Dean, truly.”

Dean swallowed, staring ahead into the playground.

“However, you are not alone.” Dean stilled, not glancing over though Castiel could sense he had his entire attention. “Wherever I can, if I can, I will assist you. You only have to ask.”

“Thought you weren’t here to perch on my shoulder.”

“I’m not. I have my own duties. But we are allies. Ask, and I will help.”

Dean didn’t speak again, apparently musing over his offer as he observed the children playing.

Castiel left a few minutes later. There was always another battle.


	5. Chapter 5

The next time Castiel met with the Winchesters, circumstances weren’t nearly so congenial. Castiel had shown mercy in not sending Uriel to be disciplined by their superiors, but it was becoming increasingly clear the angel could not be trusted to keep a level head when associating with humans.

Dean’s eyes nearly lit up when they alighted on Castiel. Memories of their last meeting, Castiel’s promise of assistance flickered across his mind. He could feel Uriel’s eyes upon him.

“Please tell me you’re here to help. We’ve been having demon issues all day.”

“Well, I can see that. You want to explain why you have that stain in the room?” Uriel jeered.

“We’re here for Anna.” Castiel clarified.

Something in Dean’s posture changed, lending him an air of caution. He had good instincts. Uriel appeared seconds away from simply attacking.

“Here for her like… here for her?”

“Stop talking. Give her to us.” Uriel demanded.

Sam was apparently picking up on the same tension as Dean, shifting his weight ready to spring into action. Behind him, the demon inched towards the door.

“Are you going to help her?” Sam asked.

“No. She has to die.” Castiel replied.

“Why?”

“Out of the way.” Uriel growled, stepping forwards. Dean sprang into his path.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. You’re gonna gank her just ‘cause she’s been wiretapping your angel radio?”

“Don’t worry. I’ll kill her gentle.”

“Uriel!”

Uriel ignored his protest, towering over Dean, wings ruffling in aggression. Castiel moved until he stood shoulder to shoulder with Uriel, his grace pressing against the other angel in a show of power. Harming the Winchesters was against their orders, even if it made finding Anna easier, and Uriel would do well to remember.

 “You’re some heartless sons of bitches, you know that?”

“As a matter of fact, we are. And?” Dean was just as guilty of antagonising his partner for seemly no reason other than an attempt at intimidation. He could use a reminder that they weren’t human, they were not bound by human limitations or laws or ethics, despite the way they looked.  Castiel may have doubts sometimes, but he knew Heaven’s path was the right one, and Dean’s disapproval did nothing to change that.

“And?” Sam cried out, incredulous. “Anna’s an innocent girl!”

“She is far from innocent.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Despite Castiel’s warning, Uriel stepped forwards once more, this time towards Sam.

“It means she’s worse than this abomination you’ve been screwing. Now give us the girl.”

“Sorry. Get yourself another one. Try JDate,” Dean replied as snidely as ever. Really it was a miracle he still lived if he was always treating enemies this way. Even Castiel was getting the urge to reprimand him, and Castiel actually liked him.

“Who’s going to stop us? You two? Or this demon whore?” With an unnecessary gesture Uriel sent the demon flying across the room. The brothers leapt to attack, and Castiel saw his opportunity. With a thought he rendered Sam unconscious, trying not to pay any mind to the fact that Uriel was preparing to actually battle Dean as he strode towards the door that hid his previous captain. She had to be contained first, before she escaped or attacked.

Suddenly, a wave of energy pulsed outwards, sending Castiel hurtling through the atmosphere in barely controlled flight. Where was he?

He was able to shift his wings enough to make a landing soft, though he had the odd sensation that he had lost a few hours somehow. He stumbled, head still spinning from the forced flight.

Of course Anna would remember the banishing sigils.

“Uriel.”

His partner didn’t answer.

“Uriel. Answer me. Where did you land?”

Still silence.

It was around five minutes later when Uriel contacted him, newly awakened somewhere in the Mojave desert. Castiel flew to him with a thought.

“We were fools to expect she would be an easy target.”

“Anna was our superior for a reason, Uriel. She was the chief battle strategist of Heaven for centuries. She should always have been approached with caution and respect, even human.”

“So we move in quick, stab her through the neck. She has no grace, she won’t be able to sense us.”

Castiel shook his head.

“No, they’ll have moved on by now. Anna possibly even remembers how to ward them from our sight. Probably, in fact. I’m finding it difficult to get an exact location for Dean Winchester.”

 “Damn that mud-loving bitch!” Uriel snarled, gesturing sharply across the empty landscape. Columns of fire began to shoot up, again and again, sending local wildlife into a panic. Castiel felt his own face draw into a sneer, and with a wave of his hand the fires were smothered.

“Uriel! If you are unable to restrain your anger I will send you to battle the daeva in Sumatra.”

“You! Why were you interfering, Castiel? The Winchesters were harbouring a fugitive!”

“We are not to harm the vessels.”

“There’s not harming and there’s coddling. What, are you afraid your Righteous Man’s feelings might be hurt?”

“Calm yourself, or I will make you be calm.”

Uriel snarled, trying to tower over Castiel in an attempt to intimidate him. Castiel didn’t flinch, glaring back at the raging angel.

After several minutes, the fight seemed to drain out of Uriel, and he turned away.

“We’ll start by checking the known hiding places of the brothers.”

* * *

 

“You visited Dean’s dreams.” Castiel spoke as Uriel approached. The angel paused, before tossing his head in a move vaguely reminiscent of a horse.

“So what? Isn’t it easier to apply a little pressure now, and wait for them to come to us?” Uriel replied.

“Of course. You’re right. Well done.”

The words tasted wrong on his lips. For some reason, the idea of Uriel pressing into Dean’s mind, knowing his private thoughts, it felt wrong against Castiel’s skin. If any angel was to see the fruits of his unguarded subconscious, it should be Castiel. He understood Dean. His soul had sung for Castiel in thanks. He was possessive.

The feeling was absurd. He ignored it.

It wouldn’t be long now.

With a flash of flame, suddenly Castiel knew exactly where Dean was once more. Anna, of course, was also right by him.

They strode into the barn not a moment later.

“Hello, Anna. It’s good to see you.”

Sam seemed shocked.

“How? How did you find us? Dean?”

“I’m sorry.”

Anna kissed Dean.

Something twisted inside him, and suddenly noise was filling his ears. Flashes of memory across Dean’s mind – he’d had sex with Anna! Dean had touched her!

Castiel didn’t like this feeling. It made Uriel’s sadism seem appealing.

Anna turned to him, stared into his eyes, and there was something triumphant in them. Her memories of passion were pushed to the forefront of her mind, practically broadcasting them for all to hear. She was proud of the act, a last defiance against the will of Heaven.

Sex with a human. The lowest an angel could fall without allying with Lucifer.

Anna, bitter and vindictive, was unworthy of Dean’s touch.

Still, Castiel found it within himself to pity her. Before her fall she had been deeply unhappy, longing constantly to live among the humans. He could understand why she had committed her crime, even if he found the idea unfathomable himself.

“I’m sorry.”

“No. You’re not. You don’t know the feeling.” She sneered in response.

“Still, we have a history. It’s just –”

“Orders are orders.” She made the word sound like blasphemy. “I know. Just make it quick.”

It was at that moment that several demons appeared, Alistair among them.

The next few minutes were very much a mess. Alistair, as it turns out, was adept at fortifying human vessels and very knowledgeable at adapting spellwork. It was only the timely intervention of Dean smashing the vial containing Anna’s grace – Castiel would be having a word with Uriel about that, the grace should have been reported and returned to Heaven – that saved Castiel from the painful fate of being exorcised from his vessel and sent up to Heaven, battered and bruised. Anna fled the scene, fully restored as an angel but with her vessel destroyed. Her body, really. It had never belonged to anyone but her.

The blast sent the demons running, leaving only the two shellshocked brothers. Dean swallowed, before attempting once more to posture and intimidate. Though, he made a good point. With Anna gone, there was no reason for them to remain nearby.

Uriel began to complain as soon as they touched down, ridiculing the humans who had outsmarted them both, growling about their impudence. Castiel had had enough. Uriel could not be allowed to work on any mission that required interacting with humans. Apparently, the angel was not strong enough to rise above his prejudices and anger. Several times during both of their last missions, Uriel’s conduct had worsened the quality of communication between Heaven and Dean Winchester, almost placing their mission in jeopardy. This could not be endured.

“Uriel. Return to your post until I call you once more. This mission is concluded.”

Uriel sneered, falling quiet, but he complied.

Castiel sighed.

Perhaps…

Perhaps this was the best outcome that could have happened. Clearly, Uriel hadn’t been entirely truthful, carrying Anna’s grace like an amulet. At full power now, she could not be manipulated by any agent of Hell for information about Heaven’s movements. And with her body destroyed, there was no way for her to interfere with the events of the Apocalypse. She could remain rogue until Heaven won and they had the resources to trace and capture her, and return her to Heaven for punishment. Eventually she could re-join the garrison, should she be deemed suitable.

Even many hours later, Castiel was unable to say whether he was glad she had escaped.

* * *

 

With over two thousand angels positioned worldwide to watch the Earth, it was unsurprising that Heaven quickly noticed when the people of Greybull, Wyoming stopped dying. Castiel quickly sent a flight to investigate. As suspected, they discovered the local reaper had gone missing, a turn of events that was highly suspect. Reapers were utterly focused on their task, ferrying the souls of the dead to wherever they were destined. A reaper that abandoned their duties was as likely as an angel that chose to live as a human, which was to say they were no longer a reaper.

What was concerning was the report that a funeral building near the centre of town was coated in anti-angel warding. Obviously, this was the site of a soon-to-be-broken seal.

Castiel sent the flight back to their duties, visiting the town himself. As a specialist in warding and spellwork, there was still a possibility that he could unweave the sigils. At least he thought so until he saw them. Obviously, whoever had crafted them had intimate knowledge of angels, down to several specific names, although judging by the fact that several of the angels mentioned were actually dead, he suspected the source of the information had long been out of contact with Heaven. It might even be that Lucifer had taught his most loyal how to ward against angels.

Either way, it would take weeks to construct a counter-spell intricate enough to pierce the warding. Probably more, since it was unlikely any nearby demon would quietly allow Castiel to carefully study the sigils. By then, the reaper he could sense within the building would likely be long dead.

Perhaps the Winchesters could help. They were very competent hunters, and it would only be so long before they were attracted to the city based on reports of undying humans.

Maybe Castiel could encourage them to act sooner.

It wasn’t that difficult to impersonate Bobby Singer over the phone. The hunter was a gruff, abrupt man, and while Castiel felt Sam might suspect something, it seemed that he had mimicked the man’s speech closely enough.

Satisfied that they were on their way, Castiel found a place nearby to retreat and focus on what he could actually do to prevent the apocalypse – namely, co-ordinating Heaven’s army.

* * *

 

Alistair had Dean cornered.

Castiel was moving before he was fully aware, sending out a bolt of pure energy. Alistair dodged backwards, turning to give a manic grin before attempting to teleport away. Luckily, by then Castiel’s warriors were in position to seize him and the demon was trapped within a webwork of spells. They disappeared to drag him to one of the holding cells Castiel had prepared.

Dean was still blinking the afterimages from his eyes, disoriented but safe for now.

“What the Hell?”

 “Guess again.” Dean didn’t seem to see the humour in his comment, which was a shame because he thought it was one of his cleverer quips in Dean’s presence.

“You’re wondering what happened here, tonight. You and Sam just saved a seal. We captured Alistair. Dean, this was a victory.”

Cautious satisfaction began to seep across Dean’s mind, reflected in his relaxed stance. Although, Castiel could still sense something confrontational about him.

“Well, no thanks to you.” Dean scoffed.

“What makes you say that?”

“You were here the whole time?”

“Since before you got here, yes.” Castiel confirmed.

“You couldn’t’ve spared a helping hand?”

“Dean, the script covering funeral home – we couldn’t penetrate it. Not in time to make a difference, at least.”

“That was angel-proofing?”

“Why do you think I recruited you and Sam in the first place?”

Dean was uneasy, again.

“You recruited us?”

“Bobby didn’t call Sam, Dean. Bobby didn’t recognise the seal.”

“That was you?”

Great. Now Dean was feeling upset about being deceived. Why was he so frustrating?

“If you want our help, why the hell didn’t you just ask?” Dean groaned, exasperated.

“Because whenever I ask, you seem to do the exact opposite.”

At that, Dean shrugged to concede. He sighed, leaning back against the wall.

“So what now?” Dean asked.

“Things will return to how they should be.”

“You mean the people in this town, they’re just gonna start dying again?” He sounded genuinely upset.

“Yes.”

“Cas, these are good people. Think you can make a few exceptions?”

“Dean, no one has the authority to decide whether death should count for them. We are all equal before it. That’s simply how things are.”

“You made an exception for me.”

“You’re different.”

“More equal than others, huh?”

Castiel didn’t answer. Heaven’s decisions on who lived and who died were not for him to question. Death was the way of the universe, every living being knew that. Even the angels would die in the end, when the lights of the universe grew dim.

Dean was different, though. He wasn’t the same as the mundane humans that filled the Earth with their average lives. Dean was instrumental. He would play a crucial role in the End of All Things. God himself had decreed it, and the Fates had written it. Unfair as it seemed, it was simply how things were.

He flew away as soon as Dean’s attention wavered.


	6. Chapter 6

Uneidreel fell silent.

Castiel found her stretched out across the grime-covered ground of a city car park. In death, her vessel looked peaceful, beautiful. Nothing at all like the fire and energy that had been Uneidreel, now scattered into nothing.

The only injury on her body was a stab wound to her chest, one that matched very closely to an angelic blade.

While they did resemble simple, cold metal, each blade contained all the energy of a living star, a hundred billion billion megawatts of energy, focused into a single, tiny blade. Star-crafted blades were some of the most powerful weapons in existence. Few beings were powerful enough to withstand the power of an entire star. The fact than any enemy of Heaven had gained access to a star-crafted blade was a serious security risk.

Idly, he wondered whose blade had been stolen. Any of the angels killed during the siege of Hell could have lost their blades. Traditionally, the blades of the dead would be destroyed, reformed into newborn stars. As their forces returned from combat, he knew they would have tried to recover as many blades as possible, but there was still a chance that one had been left behind. This left a terrible power in the hands of their enemies.

Castiel left before the humans noticed his presence.

This would be a difficult investigation.

* * *

 

Standing near the back of the room, Castiel was silent as the Winchesters entered. He was submissive as Uriel gave them his commands.

Heaven’s commands.

With so many angels – high ranking, strategically important seraphs – being killed, discovering the perpetrator was of the highest priority. There were even suspicions that an angel had turned traitor. The kills were too clean, too easy. Even with the advantage of surprise and a star-crafted blade, killing an angel was no easy task. Uneidreel in particular was a highly skilled combatant.

Castiel flinched when Dean flung his accusation about burning Pamela’s eyes out. Spoke of her death. He hadn’t even been aware of it, or attempted to heal her.

Still, he was silent.

In this case, Uriel was acting as a superior. He would be in all cases that related to Dean Winchester. Apparently, Castiel had proven to be unreliable at representing Heaven’s best interests when interacting with Dean. The accusation stung, particularly because he knew it was true.

Dean was growing aggressive in response to Uriel’s patronising tone. Perhaps he could help to smooth things.

“Dean. We know this is difficult to understand.” Castiel began. Uriel stiffened, sneering at him for speaking out of turn. Castiel scowled back, before dropping his eyes. It was Uriel’s mission.

He remained silent as Uriel laid out the purpose of their visit. The murdered angels. The suspected perpetrator. And finally the reason they had come to ask Dean for assistance.

Castiel could see it, see the moment Dean realised what they were hinting at but hadn’t yet spoken outright. What they were about to ask of him.

Dean tensed, eyes flicking between them both. Suspicion radiated off of him, mixed with regret. Rejection. Oddly, eagerness as well, and shame at his own enthusiasm.

All that was left was to verbalise what Dean feared and wanted both. What Heaven wanted.

“Alistair won’t talk.” Castiel spoke up. “His will is very strong. We’ve arrived at an impasse.”

Dean turned to him, eyes sharp and bright. Daring Castiel to ask.

“Yeah, well, he’s like a black belt in torture. I mean, you guys are out of your league.”

Castiel nearly laughed. How little Dean knew of the inner workings of Heaven. There was a pragmatic ruthlessness in pursuing a path said to be righteous or just, one unmatched by simple sadism.

Uriel shifted to block their line of sight, gathering Dean’s attention again.

“That’s why we’ve come to his student.” Uriel smirked, revealing the teeth of his vessel in a way that could be correctly interpreted as predatory. “You happen to be the most qualified interrogator we’ve got.”

Dean swallowed, glaring but unable to defend himself. Fear won, establishing itself as a tremble in Dean’s hands. Sam, standing to the side, appeared to be readying himself to intervene on behalf of his brother.

“No. No way, you can’t – Cas. Not this.”

“Dean, you are our best hope.” The lie twisted in his mouth, burning like hellfire.

“Cas, you can’t ask me to do this!”

“Who said anything about asking?” Uriel drawled, snaring Dean within his grace. Before either brother could react, Uriel flew from the room, Castiel close on his heels.

The room Alistair was confined within was barren. Dark. Old grime coated many of the surfaces, though the debris had been banished from the floor. Old metal piping crisscrossed the ceiling, still filled with stale water from when the factory had been active. Atmospherically, it did greatly resemble a dungeon. Personally, Castiel felt the location was chosen for theatrics rather than anything practical, especially considering they could simply form a perfect prison within a pocket dimension.

Either way, Castiel had been quick to coat every surface in runes and sigils, whatever he could think of to prevent Alistair’s escape. The demon himself was bound, trapped within the confines of the most powerful devil’s trap he knew of. If nothing else, Castiel could ensure Dean would be safe during this torturous endeavour.

They landed in the room adjacent to Alistair’s prison. Dean, though startled at the sudden travel, immediately began to take in the room, searching for an escape. Castiel gestured towards the door that connected the rooms.

“Alistair is bound completely, within an enochian devil’s trap. The most powerful I know.”

“Fascinating.” Dean replied, turning to walk in the opposite direction. His breathing was too quick. “Where’s the door?”

“Where are you going, Dean?”

“Hitch back to Cheyenne, thank you very much.”

He appeared to be on the edge of a panic attack. Uriel moved to stand before him, baring his teeth as he snarled out, “Angels are dying, boy.”

It was perhaps the best thing that could have happened in that moment.

Dean’s panic subsided beneath focus, the same hyperawareness that kept him alive on a hunt. Uriel provided an enemy to fight, and Dean rose to the challenge, squaring off against the angel.

“What, you think you’re special, Chuckles? Everybody’s dying these days. I get it’s a bit of a shock for you lot, thinking you’re all-powerful and crap, but hey! It makes for a great learning opportunity.” Stepping back from Uriel, Dean glanced between them with a vicious grin. “You reckon you can make me do whatever you want? Well, you won’t make me do this.”

Uriel was fuming. The very air around him was beginning to heat from his fury, and all of it was directed at Dean.

Castiel darted forwards, sliding into the space between them. His wings pressed back, firmly enough to cause Uriel to stumble. He would not allow Uriel to harm Dean.

Dean was still grinning, though it began to fall as Castiel caught his eye.

“This is too much to ask. I know. But we have to ask it.”

It was Heaven’s will. Not to ask was to disobey, a freedom he didn’t possess. But Dean did. He could reject this plan, still. Reject the idea of torture. Alistair would pass to Heaven’s own interrogators, leaving Dean in peace. Silently, Castiel pleaded for him to remain strong.

“I want to talk to Cas alone.” Dean didn’t break their eye contact as he addressed Uriel. The angel snorted, leaving the room immediately, in all likelihood with plans to start a forest fire of some kind.

With Uriel gone, Dean’s brazen display fell away.

“What’s going on, Cas? Since when does Uriel put a leash on you?”

“My superiors have begun to question my sympathies.”

“Your sympathies?”

“I was getting too close to the humans in my charge. You. They feel I’ve begun to express emotions. Doorways to doubt. This can impair my judgement.”

“Well, tell Uriel or whoever they can shove it! You do not want me doing this, trust me.”

“Want it? No. But I have been told we need it.” Please say no. Say no, keep saying no.

“You ask me to walk through that door, you will not like what walks back out.”

“For what it’s worth, I would give anything for you not to have to do this.”

Dean didn’t answer, stepping into the next room.

Castiel had succeeded in the name of Heaven.

Why did this feel so much like a failure?

* * *

 

He could hear the screaming.

Alistair’s were easy to ignore. The screams from Dean’s soul were too piercing to drown out. They traced along each of his wings, sending jarring reverberations straight to the core of him. Some part of Dean – wounded and stained by Hell – had always been convinced he would end up above a torture rack once more. Felt it was all he deserved.

The worst of it, far worse than Dean’s screams, was hearing him go silent. Hearing as Dean accepted that Castiel would not act to save him. That no one would prevent him from carving agonies into another being. 

Flickering lights drew his attention. A second later, Anna stood before him.

“Hello, Castiel.”

Oddly, she was still dressed in the same vessel he had last seen her, the young redheaded body she had grown up within.

“Your human body—”

“It was destroyed, I know. But I guess I’m sentimental. Called in some old favours and…” She shrugged, gesturing to her body. Castiel squinted, trying to work out the exact mechanics of occupying a body without a soul. Technically, it was impossible.

Of course, this particular body had never contained a soul, inhabited by a mutilated angel and no other from the very first breath. It had grown, slowly absorbing grace. That must be why it worked.

Thoughts of vessel mechanics did nothing to block out the screaming. He winced at a particularly sharp note. Of course, she noticed.

“You shouldn’t be here. We still have orders to kill you,” he warned.

“Somehow, I don’t think you’ll try,” she drawled. “Where’s Uriel?”

“He went to receive revelation.”

“Right.” Her voice was laced with heavy sarcasm. Castiel frowned at her in confusion.

“What are you trying to imply?”

“Why are you letting Dean do this?” Anna asked, instead of responding.

“He’s doing God’s work.” Castiel’s words didn’t sound remotely convincing, even to himself.

“Torturing? That’s God’s work?” Anna used her words as sharply as blades. “Stop him, Cas, please. Before you ruin the one real weapon you have.”

“Dean is not a weapon.”

Absurdly, she smiled. It didn’t really reach her eyes. “Why in our Father’s name are you using him like one, then? You can’t seriously think this is his will?”

“If it isn’t, then where would the orders come from?” he snapped.

“I don’t know,” Anna snorted. “One of our superiors, maybe, but definitely not him. The Father you love, you think he’d want this? You think he’d ask this of you? Of Dean? You think this is righteous?”

Castiel looked away, scowling at the wall. Of course he didn’t believe this course was righteous. Coercing a soul to do something they didn’t really consent to was the opposite of righteous. If he had the freedom, he would never have let Dean pursue this path again. He would slaughter Alistair himself before allowing Dean to hear his smarmy voice.

“What you’re feeling? It’s called doubt,” Anna spoke with a soft tone.

Castiel glared at her.

“Do not condescend to me, Ananchel. I know you were my superior, and you are enamoured with the intensity of human neurochemical emotions, but I am certain you can still remember what it was like to be an angel. We do not feel less for not possessing bodies, and this is not nearly the first time any of us have felt doubt.”

“Yes, and still you follow just as blindly,” she scoffed. “You think happiness comes from following orders. But Cas,” she moved to take his hand. “These orders are wrong, and you know it. You can still do the right thing. You’re afraid, I was too. But together, we can still—”

She fell silent as he stepped away from her, allowing her hand to drop.

“I am nothing like you, Ananchel. I still have faith. You chose to fall. Go.”

“Cas.”

His shortened name sounded wrong on her lips.

“Anna. Go, before I am forced to attack you.”

She disappeared.

All that was left was the screams.

* * *

 

Something went wrong.

Castiel sensed it almost too late, the difference in the silence, the screams. He flew into the room, landing behind an unbound Alistair. He had Dean pinned against the rack, beaten bloody.

Lunging forwards, Castiel aimed his own star-blade directly for the demon’s heart.

Alistair must have sensed him, because he spun, catching Castiel’s wrist. Guiding his momentum around, he managed to throw Castiel against the far wall, springing after him faster than a human could register. He barely had time to deflect Alistair’s attack.

The fight was quick. Brutal. Between breaths Alistair was attempting to cast him out of his vessel and back to Heaven. As long as he kept moving, the spell wouldn’t stick.

As Castiel gained the upper hand, slamming Alistair into the wall, footsteps echoed across the chamber. Alistair’s smirk dropped, and suddenly he was shrieking, writhing in place. Castiel blinked in surprise, stepping away from the incapacitated demon and glancing around to find Sam standing above Dean’s unconscious body.

The boy was using his psychic abilities.

“Who’s murdering the angels?” Sam snarled.

Between shrieks, Alistair managed to gasp out, “You think I’m going to tell you?” he began to cackle roughly, spitting on the floor.

Sam was undaunted.

Seconds later, and apparently whatever torture he was placing Alistair through grew in intensity.

Eventually, he screamed out something that Castiel had hoped couldn’t be true. The demons were not responsible for the deaths.

Which meant an angel was.

* * *

 

Castiel wished he was able to burn the image of Dean lying broken and unconscious from his memory. The man had come close to dying, though luckily Castiel had been near enough to intervene. If Uriel had ordered him away, Dean might be truly dead right now.

Landing by Uriel, near a park bench, Castiel let the image slide from the forefront of his mind. Dean’s injuries, both mental and physical, they were his fault. Until he could discover what went wrong, he would use the image of Dean’s pain as fuel. Never again would he allow Dean to be wounded so deeply.

Uriel smiled at him, gesturing for him to sit beside him. Castiel did, staring out into the park, only half-listening as Uriel recounted the things he had learnt in revelation.

The problem, as he saw it, was that very few angels had actually any knowledge of their prisoners, or the missions Castiel ran alongside Dean. The only ones with any clue were Uriel, Zachariah, and for some reason, Anna. It meant discovering a traitor would be more difficult.

Anna, he could probably place aside. While she could have been the one behind the murders, her blade was already crafted to form a new star, and it was unlikely she would find another.

Which really only left Uriel and Zachariah. He hoped it was Zachariah.

“Something is wrong up there,” Uriel muttered. “I mean, can you feel it?”

“The murders. I don’t think they are demonic,” Castiel confided. Uriel shifted to face him more fully, eyes wide and serious.

“If not demons, what could it be?”

Now, that was a little suspicious. Uriel was not unintelligent, and they had actually discussed the possibility of a traitor before ever attempting to contact Dean.

Castiel decided to probe further.

“Perhaps the angels are dying by the will of Heaven. We are failing, Uriel. This is a punishment.”

“You think our Father would—”

“I don’t think he’s giving the orders anymore, Uriel. Maybe there is something wrong.”

“Well, I won’t wait to be gutted!” Standing, Uriel flew.

Castiel shifted to lean back, thinking things through.

Considering how he had been acting for the entirety of their time vessel-bound, Uriel’s current behaviour was quite incongruous. Even before, he wasn’t the naïve, faithful servant Heaven desired them to be. He was loud. Fiery. Destructive. Not this wide-eyed parody of innocence.

Sighing, he prepared to fly.

* * *

 

After talking with Anna, Castiel chose to investigate the prison room. It was all too obvious where the weakness in the Devil’s trap had developed. A steady drip from one of the overhead pipes had eventually washed through the paint of the trap. With only a little grace, he adjusted the faucet, sealing the pipe once more.

The accident that had happened here was by all indications an act of sabotage. Any other angel – one less experienced in spellwork or less invested in Dean Winchester’s wellbeing – might have made a mistake in securing the prison room, something easily exploitable by a demon as powerful as Alistair.

Whoever had set this up – Uriel or Zachariah – was unaware of exactly how thorough Castiel had been.

The sound of wings alerted him to Uriel’s presence.

“You called?”

Castiel turned to the other angel. Uriel was smiling hopefully, his wings at a self-effacing angle. Castiel frowned. Uriel was still lying.

“Strange, how a leaky pipe can undo the work of angels when we ourselves are supposed to be the agents of fate,” Castiel probed. Uriel’s eyes flashed, and a second later he dropped the façade, strolling closer with a smirk across his face.

“Maybe Alistair was more powerful than we imagined,” Uriel replied snidely.

“No,” Castiel shook his head, careful to keep his eyes on Uriel. “No, there is no demon that can overpower that trap. I designed it myself. We’ve been friends for a long time, Uriel. We fought by each other’s sides, destroyed countless enemies of Heaven and Creation itself, for what seems like forever. We’re brothers, Uriel. Pay me that respect. Tell me the truth.”

Uriel didn’t respond immediately. Slowly, his wings flexed, feathers rippling in a display on the edge of aggression. His smirk grew wider, until it revealed his teeth.

“The truth is, the only thing that can kill an angel… is another angel.” Uriel drew his blade as he spoke, shifting to step closer.

Honestly, even anticipating that Uriel was the traitor, confirming it still hurt.

“You. You broke the Devil’s trap, set Alistair on Dean,” he spoke mechanically.

“Alistair should never have been taken alive!” Uriel growled. “Really inconvenient, Castiel. So yes, I did turn a screw a little. Alistair should have killed Dean and escaped, and you should have happily gone on scapegoating the demons for slaughtering your little crush.”

So Uriel truly was unaware of the safeguards he had built into the room. Alistair would have murdered Dean, yes, but there was no way for him to escape the room.  

“And the murders of our kin?”

“Not murders, Castiel! No, my work is conversion,” Uriel appeared to be growing more agitated. “How long have we waited? How long have we played this game with rules that make no sense?”

“It is our Father’s world, Uriel.”

“Our Father?!” Uriel roared. “He stopped being that, even if he ever was, the moment he created them. Humanity. His favourites. This whining, puking larva!”

Castiel shifted as Uriel stepped closer again. He was obviously unstable.

“Are you trying to convert me?”

“I wanted you to join me. I still do! With you, your magic, we will be powerful enough to raise our brother!”

“Lucifer.”

“You remember him? How glorious he was? How beautiful? And he never bowed to humanity! He was punished for defending us! Your human, this so-called Righteous man, he’s nothing but a drunken footnote in our Father’s defunct plan. If you want to believe in something, Castiel, believe in Lucifer!”

“Lucifer is not God.”

“God isn’t God anymore. He doesn’t care what we do. I am proof of that.”

“But this? What were you going to do, Uriel, kill the whole garrison?”

“I only killed the ones who said no,” Uriel scoffed. “Others have joined me. Now, please, brother, don’t fight me. Help me. Help me bring on the apocalypse. All you have to do is be unafraid.”

Castiel had heard enough. He gave no warning as he lunged forwards, blade already drawn. Uriel hadn’t been expecting that, at least, although he quickly struck back.

Castiel wheeled about, blocking his attack. The shockwaves were enough to send cracks through the concrete at his feet.

Uriel was stronger than he should be. His wings lit up with unrecognisable runes, some form of bastardised Enochian. Castiel was not powerful enough win against him.

Very quickly, Uriel gained the upper hand. Still, Castiel fought. Uriel had very nearly caused Dean’s death. His plan – and it was abundantly clear this entire interrogation scenario had been set up by Uriel with no input from Heaven – had come close to corrupting Dean all over again, destroying what remained of his sanity.

Castiel snarled, swinging his wings forwards as weapons slicing into Uriel’s vessel. He shrieked, before throwing Castiel against the wall. His hand found Castiel’s neck, squeezing tight as his wings smothered him.

He couldn’t move.

“There is no God, Castiel!” Uriel sneered. “No will. No wrath. Fight alongside me, or I will execute you.”

Castiel relaxed, allowing his gaze and his wings to drop in submission.

“Fine. You’re right. I do…I do doubt. I do question.”

“Yes, brother! Join me! Join us, and Lucifer will remake the world in his image! No more death! No more war!”

Castiel closed his eyes, letting Uriel’s delirious diatribe wash over him. Unseen, a tendril of his grace drifted across the room, brushing lightly against sigils hidden within the walls and floors.

Uriel noticed the humming a second too late. He shrieked as the spell wrapped around him tangling tighter and tighter until his wings were bound, holding him in the centre of the room.

“Castiel! What is this?”

He grimaced, stretching as he examined his injuries.

“I am the leader of our garrison for a reason, Uriel. I would be a rather poor strategist if I didn’t account for a traitor from among the angels, especially with Ananchel loose.”

“You betrayed me!”

Castiel glared, stepping closer until he was directly before Uriel. The angel was still snarling, spitting, struggling against his bindings.

“Eight angels, Uriel! Eight of our brethren slaughtered by your hand! And you have the nerve to accuse be of treachery?”

“Eight traitors to our kind! Willing to place these mud monkeys above us! Willing to die for them!”

Castiel began to speak—

A blade appeared through Uriel’s neck, wreathed in the light of his ethereal body. Castiel flinched, stepping back as the angel screamed, his wings burning to ash. A second later, the empty vessel fell to the ground.

Anna stood behind him, her blade dripping with grace and blood.

“Anna…”

“He would only be executed by Heaven anyway.”

Castiel’s eyes traced over Uriel’s broken vessel. The silhouettes of two wings were seared into the ground across the room. Even as he watched, the last of Uriel’s grace dissipated into nothing.

“If I see you again, Anna, I will kill you.”

“Come on, Cas. You don’t really mean that,” she scoffed.

“No, I do. You are no better than him, Ananchel. Driven mad and faithless. A murderer.” He glared at her, shifting to an attack stance. “I was willing to look the other way, while all you wanted was a human life. Interfering in our mission – killing a fellow angel – that is unforgivable.”

He flew from the room, leaving her with the corpse. He had to check in on Dean.

* * *

 

“Ah, Castiel. I have been meaning to talk to you.”

“Zachariah. I didn’t know you’d taken a vessel.”

“Yes. Unfortunate, isn’t it. I was hoping or something a little…you know, sleek. Elegant. Thank our Father, it’s only temporary. Now, back to the subject at hand. You see, how do I put this? The powers that be are no longer certain you’re our best angel on the job, after that whole fiasco with Uriel and Alistair. Five flight leaders and three lieutenants dead, our prisoner burnt up, and our ace in the hole cursing Heaven? You’ve got to admit, it’s a bit of a mess.”

“Uriel was corrupted by Lucifer. He chose targets based on their strategic worth during a rebellion, and actively sabotaged our missions with a hope to kill Dean.”

“Yes, well that is very convenient isn’t it, with only your recollections of the whole thing.”

“I serve Heaven.”

“Well of course you do. We all serve Heaven. Some of us better than others… but you don’t have to worry your pretty little head anymore, Castiel, because I can make this whole mess disappear.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The Michael Sword. I can get him on board again.”

Castiel had to bite his tongue against his first reaction. And his second.

“With all due respect, Zachariah, Dean does not trust angels. Now less than ever, and with good reason.”

“Oh, there’s no harm in putting a little fear of God in him, is there? Besides I was thinking something a little more subtle than just popping over and telling him to buck up. You’ve broken our dear Dean’s spirit, so what better way to build it up again than with another spirit?”

“If you are referring to an alcoholic beverage then I would strongly object.”

Zachariah smirked.

“Oh, Castiel. Still just as literal as ever. I had hoped being in a human vessel might give you a greater understanding of the intricacies of language, but that’s never been your strong suit, has it?”

“Are we going to discuss your plan after you have finished insulting my intelligence?”

“Ah. Hmm. Now, this is awkward. See, my colleagues and I feel it would be best if you kept a little distance from this one, effective immediately. At least until we’ve fixed it. Nothing personal.”

“I see.”

“It should give you time to focus on all your captaining duties at the very least.”

“Of course.”

“Don’t look so glum! This isn’t a demotion, Castiel. Just a reshuffling of sorts. I’m sure you’ll get your visiting privileges back soon enough.”

“Is there anything else, Zachariah, or am I free to pursue my remaining duties?”

“No, go right ahead. We’ll contact you again if we need you.”

Castiel was wheeling away almost as soon as Zachariah spoke. Out of range, he could feel a snarl rising to break free, his feathers puffing up in rage.

How dare they.

How dare they imply Castiel was a Lucifer supporter! How dare Zachariah imply he had murdered his own angels! That he tortured Dean –

Guilt swept across him just as quickly. Dean was also meant to fall under his protection. He couldn’t claim lack of responsibility there. He had known it was wrong to ask Dean to torture when he was trying so hard to put Hell behind him, as if Heaven didn’t have their own forces specialised in interrogation. He had heard Dean’s soul crying out in horror at the wicked satisfaction that came with destroying his enemy, at applying the skills he swore never to use on another living being. Castiel chose inaction, and it had been just as destructive as compliance.

He would do better. He would make this up to Dean, however he could. Sitting by Dean’s hospital bed would not be their last interaction, even if Castiel had to wait until after the conclusion of the Apocalypse.


	7. Chapter 7

The war was as draining as ever. Days began to flicker past without any clear victory on their part. Demons were still testing their forces on a semi-regular basis, but it was clear they were not meant to be true assaults. They retreated too easily, obviously only attacking to gain information on the placement of Heaven’s Guard.

More frustratingly, the guerrilla forces sent by Lilith were still breaking seals.

Castiel only tried to visit Dean once. Not up close, of course, Zachariah had angels placed at convenient locations throughout the microcosm the Winchesters now believed to be their lives. Myrmiddiazar and Zaririel still observed the movements of both brothers from perches in Heaven. Any one of them would rather call a flight to fight Castiel off than disobey a direct order.

He just had to make sure Dean was alright.

Landing on a nearby rooftop, Castiel had a good view of Dean’s office. The angels watching over the brothers noticed, of course, but he did not try to approach any closer. Castiel outranked them, so unless he was obviously violating a direct order they could not take action against him.

He just had to make sure Dean was okay.

Over the course of the day, Castiel watched Dean wander in and out of his office. There was something bizarre about seeing Dean working in an office – actually working, as opposed to gathering information for a hunt. Zachariah came in to talk with Dean at one point, apparently in disguise as one of Dean’s superiors in the firm. Midway through their conversation, Zachariah’s eyes found Castiel’s, despite the distance to his vantage point. Castiel didn’t react to his smirk, nor the hand he laid in a far too familiar claim on Dean’s shoulder.

This would only be for a little while.

Castiel stayed late into the evening, watching as Dean packed up to leave long after the other employees. Even in so mediocre a job, he put forth his every effort.

He had been idle too long to watch further, to properly guard Dean as he should have before. Reluctantly, Castiel took flight.

* * *

 

“ _Cas, something weird’s come up. A psychic, we think. Is it something to do with your lot?”_

The prayer was an unexpected break from the monotony. Especially unexpected, since at the last Castiel had heard, Dean was working at Sandover with doctored memories. Funny, how no angel – not even those he had assigned to watch the brothers – had reported Dean as being an active hunter again, or having full access to his memory. It was almost as if Zachariah was limiting the flow of information Castiel received regarding the brothers.

There was no harm in moving closer. He could direct battles across the world just as effectively from any location. Choosing to set down in a garden in the same town as Dean was simply a coincidence.

It was unfortunate he was unable to answer Dean’s prayer directly. Being that this was the town the Prophet Chuck lived in, it seemed pretty likely he was the reason the Winchesters were here too.

Still, it wouldn’t hurt to focus through their bond on the condition of Dean’s emotional state. He could be volatile when he was feeling threatened, and Raphael didn’t take threats to the Prophet lightly.

A sudden flare of anger combined with a distinct twinge of unease called Castiel hurtling to Dean’s side. Dean, as he had predicted, was feeling unnerved and more than a little frightened, and was reacting aggressively, pushing the Prophet Chuck harshly against a wall. Raphael was beginning to shift above them.

“Dean, let him go!”

The speed with which Dean complied was somewhat gratifying. Raphael emanated a sensation of smug disdain and disinterest, before settling again.

“This man is to be protected.”

“Why?”

“He’s a Prophet of the Lord.”

Dean didn’t seem to have any response, and silence began to stretch between them. He looked good. Healthy. Confident in his actions again. Relief settled deep within him like Heavenly light breaking through infernal smoke. Dean was fine. Castiel hadn’t damaged him irreparably.

In fact, it nearly seemed as if Dean was relaxing in his presence. His soul, that part that recognised the press of Castiel’s Grace, flickered in recognition and welcome. Castiel debated stepping closer.

“You’re… you’re Castiel… aren’t you?”

“It is an honour to meet you, Chuck. I… admire your work.” Castiel did. He had taken the time, over the years, to read all of the Prophet’s books. They were an accurate, if hyperbolic, depiction of the trials the Winchesters had undergone over the last few years. What Castiel liked the most was the internal thoughts recorded within the books. Dean’s thought process was fascinating, whether up close or in literary form.

Dean, as it turns out, was less fond of the idea of a Prophet documenting his life on behalf of Heaven. Honestly though, it was nice to hear Dean’s voice again, even if he was on the edge of a tirade.

“This is the guy who decides our fate?”

Castiel looked up to Dean, pleasantly surprised to find him leaning closer.

“He isn’t deciding anything. He’s merely a mouthpiece – a divine conduit for the inspired word.”

“The word? The word of God? What, like the new testament?”

Castiel smiled, stepping minutely closer to Dean to offer one of the novels.

“One day, these books – they’ll be known as the Winchester Gospel.”

Predictably, Dean grimaced.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“I am not… kidding you.” The colloquialism felt odd in his mouth, but he didn’t miss the upwards tic in the corner of Dean’s mouth as he spoke, nor the flash of enjoyment across his mind. Did Dean find his use of so-called slang words amusing? That was interesting. That was… it made Castiel feel warm.

Chuck ducked away, mumbling about taking a moment. Castiel didn’t look away from Dean.

 “Him? Really?”

“You should’ve seen Luke.”

“Why’d he even get tapped, anyway?”

“I don’t know how prophets are chosen, Dean. The order comes from higher up the celestial chain of command.”

“How high?”

“Very.”

“God?” Castiel shrugged. He had always assumed such matters were dealt with by their Father, but it was possible that Michael had some hand in it. Either way it hardly mattered. Chuck Shurley was a true prophet, his name carved into the minds of every angel in existence. The source of his power was irrelevant. His prophecies were all true.

“Well, whatever. How do we get around this?”

“Around what?”

“The Sam-Lilith love connection. How do we stop it from happening?”

“What the prophet has written can’t be unwritten. As he has seen it, so it shall come to pass.”

“No. Wrong answer.”

“I’m sorry, Dean. There’s no way.”

Dean snarled, throwing the book onto the table as he wheeled away. Castiel frowned, feeling the peculiar warmth at Dean’s amusement fall away.

He moved like a storm contained within flesh. Fear and protective instinct swirled around him like a miasma, growing more agitated by the second.

“I wish I could give you a more satisfying answer, Dean.”

“Just – you’ve helped enough, Cas.”

With that, Dean swept from the house, presumably to find his brother.

Castiel missed his presence almost immediately.

* * *

 

He didn’t know why he was still hovering around this town.

Zachariah hadn’t lifted the restriction on Castiel visiting Dean. The only reason his earlier visit was acceptable was because Dean had placed the prophet in danger and conveniently Castiel had been close by.

If he were to be honest with himself, something about being in Dean’s proximity proved to be soothing. He was calmer. His concentration was better.

Still, to hear a second prayer from Dean in one day was unexpected.

_“Well, I feel stupid doing this. But…I am fresh out of options. So please. I need some help. I’m praying, okay? Come on, please…”_

Castiel flew to his side without a second thought.

“Prayer is a sign of faith. This is a good thing, Dean.”

“So does that mean you’ll help me?”

“I’m not sure what I can do.”

“Drag Sam out of here, now. Before Lilith shows up.”

He shook his head. “It’s a prophecy. I can’t interfere.”

Dean didn’t seem to like his answer. He strode forwards, leaning over Castiel as an attempt at intimidation.

“You have tested me, and thrown me every which way. And I never asked for anything. Not a damn thing. But now I’m asking. I need your help. Please.”

Yes. Just say yes. Help him. Disobey and save Dean further pain. Dean had had enough pain in his life. He didn’t deserve more, especially now with the trials awaiting him.

Castiel could not.

“What you’re asking, it’s… not within my power to do.”

“Why? ‘Cause it’s ‘divine prophecy’?”

“Yes.”

“So what – we’re supposed to just sit here and wait for it to happen?”

“I’m sorry.”

“Screw you. You and your mission. Your God. If you don’t help me now, then when the time comes and you need me… don’t bother knocking.”

Dean was beginning to show faith. Faith in Castiel, despite his mistakes. Now Castiel was responsible for the despair clinging to his skin, and he had had enough. Castiel would not be the one to deny Dean again.

“Dean.”

The man paused, head half turned to show his attention.

“You must understand why I cannot intercede. Prophets are very special. They’re protected.”

Castiel could nearly taste Dean’s frustration. He was glad enough that Dean still trusted him enough to hear him out instead of simply storming off in anger.

“If anything threatens a prophet, anything at all, an archangel shall appear to defend them. Archangels are fierce. They’re absolute. Heaven’s most terrifying weapon.”

Dean turned to face him, and already Castiel knew Dean understood his suggestion. He could feel the lips of his vessel twitch into a smile.

“And these archangels. They’re tied to prophets?”

Dean was simply asking about the mechanics of angelic duty. There was no harm in sharing.

“Yes.”

Dean was practically humming with focused energy now, a hunter shown his objective. It was invigorating, particularly the thread of thankfulness following Dean’s prayer. Castiel had never received a prayer of gratitude before. Unlike the archangels, his true name was not recorded in any text, so there had never been any prayers directed his way. Generalised thankfulness towards Heaven’s forces felt very different.

“So, hypothetically, if a demon was to enter the same room as the prophet–”

“Then the most fearsome wrath in Heaven would rain down on that demon. Just so you understand… why I can’t help.”

“Thanks, Cas.”

“Good luck.”

Castiel flew away, but only far enough to be hidden from Dean’s sight. He felt good, light, and his vessel’s heart was beating faster than normal despite his attempts to regulate it. Ahead of him, Dean was already on the move, making his way towards Chuck Shurley’s house. Impulsively, Castiel decided to wait by the motel. Of course he could not intervene in anything the prophet had seen was to come, but if an opportunity were to arise he wished to take it.

If…

The coupling between Lilith and Sam Winchester was foretold. If Dean was somehow able to sidestep such a prophecy, then perhaps it was possible it could happen again. Perhaps the apocalypse need never happen! Humans could continue to live out their mundane lives, free from the terrors of the holy and unholy, creating and destroying and being as dysfunctional as ever. Dean was stubborn enough to force a new solution.

This was the way Castiel could redeem himself after his failing. Dean’s injuries at Alistair’s hands, both physical and mental, were horrific, and had not even served a purpose beyond Uriel’s sadism. Castiel would earn forgiveness for his part.

He was decided.

Once Heaven turned away, after this latest debacle was over, Castiel would seek Dean out to tell him his true role in the apocalypse. Knowing that Lilith’s death was the final seal, that their fate was to be vessels hosting the two most powerful archangels – it was still possible that Lucifer would never rise at all. They were not bound by Heaven’s protocol. They could kill Lilith before her time, preventin the final seal from ever forming!

Dean had to know.

* * *

 

Of course, it was unrealistic to expect Heaven would not notice.

Hester appeared before him as he waited for Dean. Her flight accompanied her, some forty angels all told. Castiel was on guard from the moment he heard their wings.

“Captain.”

“Hester. I thought you were still dealing with that demonic incursion in Albania.”

“We were, but Zachariah contacted me directly. Apparently victory has been less common here on the front line.”

“I beg to differ. Only a few days ago, the Winchesters helped to defend the Prophet Chuck from some of Lilith’s forces.”

“And less than a month ago our best warriors were being murdered by the dozen.”

Castiel flexed his wings, watching as the other angels tensed. He recognised most of them, good soldiers devoted to serving Heaven’s interests. The regiment headed by Lairabel specialised in tracking and capture. Sorenel’s regiment was made up of speed-based warriors. An escape from their combined attentions would prove very difficult. Castiel should have had the foresight to ward himself from their attentions.

“Uriel’s sympathies lay with Lucifer. He killed any of our brethren that would not ally themselves with him.”

“And yet you still live.”

“What exactly are you implying, Hester?”

“When did you last return to Heaven, Castiel? When did you last share your thoughts openly with another angel?”

“Hester. I am your superior.”

“Uriel was one of your closest friends.”

“As are you.”

“Yet I did not turn a blind eye to angel-inflicted wounds.”

“If you had been here, he would have slaughtered you too.”

“How did you survive? We all know Uriel was the more powerful angel in direct combat. What do we have beyond your word that he was the traitor?”

“I would never harm another angel.”

“You flew off ahead in Hell. You were alone. Who knows how badly you might have been compromised?”

“I serve Heaven.”

“Do you?”

“Of course I do.”

“Because many would say you have a soft spot for the Righteous Man.”

“This is ridiculous.”

“You’ve watched him for years, even now in your free time.”

“So do hundreds of other angels. They are the agents of Prophecy.”

“No other angel has interfered with Fate on their behalf.”

Unfortunately that was very true. With both Winchesters destined for heaven, it was easier to let them die and then send their souls back to the mortal plane than to actively try and protect either of them. Castiel could not immediately think of a rebuttal. Of course, Hester leapt on the opening.

“There is something wrong about you, Castiel. Come back to Heaven. We will correct it.”

Castiel didn’t bother to answer, simply springing into action. Maybe half of the angels soared after him, the rest in quick pursuit.

Already, he knew there was no escape. There were too many fighting against him, too many blades to duck between. Changing course, he streaked back towards the warehouse. If he couldn’t escape, and all reason pointed to that being truth, then the least he could do was release Jimmy Novak before the soul was shredded alongside his Grace.

There were too many.

Castiel swept out of his vessel, leaving Jimmy unconscious but safe on the warehouse floor. The other angels ignored Jimmy’s presence, focused entirely on Castiel. Only seconds later they caught him, dragging him struggling back to Heaven.

The first thing they did was to steal his voice.

A dominium, one Castiel didn’t recognise but could sense was of superior rank, entered the pocket dimension. Grace stabbed through his own, restraining his struggling, restricting his movement. It felt like he should be gasping for breath, but of course he no longer possessed lungs.

The dominium moved closer, smothering his awareness of everything beyond.

How to describe the indescribable? Almost nothing in existence could harm an angel. Death was quick. What angel knew how to describe pain? What words were there to describe such a deep non-physical agony? No human word could capture it, the feeling of every single speck of grace searing, and freezing, and bleeding, and throbbing, and ripping apart simultaneously. It was beyond memory. Beyond consciousness.

Foreign grace sliced into him with surgical precision, aiming to create as much pain as possible and no permanent damage. Each stroke was an agony, tearing into the very core of him. There were no words that could convey it. Each burn was worse than any inflicted by any infernal creature.

He couldn’t scream.

No voice.

Nothing.

Nothing else.

This was all.

Pain.

Pain.

Could not scream.

Hurt.

Burning.

Stop.

Please, stop.

No.

There was respite.

Shivering. Something soft. Someone. An angel. Dominium. Healing.

“ _Your name is Castiel. You are an angel of the Lord”_

Castiel. His name. Not his, he wasn’t a he. Angels were genderless.

_“You were disobedient. You were treasonous.”_

Treason. Castiel was treasonous. Castiel had betrayed.

_“You chose to serve a man over all Heaven. You have been punished.”_

Castiel had betrayed Heaven.

_“You will repent for your transgressions, angel. You were led astray. You will serve Heaven, and the Lord shall forgive you.”_

Castiel would serve Heaven. Castiel would always serve Heaven.

_“You are a good soldier. Trust in your orders, Castiel. You are the will of God.”_

Castiel felt something shift back into place. Voice.

“I am the will of God.”

_“You are. You follow only God.”_

“I follow only God.”

_“You will protect the Michael Sword until the vessel is needed.”_

“I will protect the Michael Sword.”

_“Good.”_

With that, the oppressive other grace retreated, and Castiel was left alone as the walls of the pocket dimension dissolved.

Castiel knew several days had passed on Earth.

The Winchester brothers were longing for Castiel’s reappearance. Jimmy Novak was praying for the lives of his family. Where was Zaroskiel? Why had the Novaks been allowed to be captured?

Castiel flew back to Earth, quickly finding the source of Jimmy Novak’s prayer.

It didn’t take long to grasp the situation. Demons had taken advantage of Castiel’s absence to attack the Novak family, with the aim to slaughter the Novak bloodline and prevent Castiel from returning. It was a good strategy, for a demon. Flawed, of course, by the assumption that Castiel could only inhabit one vessel. Castiel merely had to wait for the opportune moment to intervene.

As the Winchesters and Jimmy Novak were captured, Castiel contacted Claire Novak.

“Claire Novak. Be not afraid, child, for all will be well.”

Claire flinched, glancing to her captors, before settling herself. Her thoughts were circling wildly, mostly centred on the observation that the demons had not reacted to the voice whispering across her mind. Clever child.

“Do not speak out loud, Claire. Concentrate on what you wish to say and I shall hear it.”

Will you help us?

“Yes, but I will need your assistance.”

What do you need me to do?

“Say yes.”

Just that? Why? What are you going to do? You’re not human, are you.

“No. My name is Castiel. I am an angel of the Lord.”

My Dad talked about you sometimes. Mom says you don’t exist, but I remember you. You took my Dad away.

Claire’s thoughts were beginning to grow more agitated. The demon possessing Amelia Novak had a gun out, pointed at Jimmy Novak.

“Claire, say yes!”

Yes.

Castiel acted immediately, taking command of the new vessel.  Both Winchesters were restrained across the room, Jimmy Novak closer. As it was, any attempt to intervene would likely result in the brothers suffering a severe injury, possibly death. Castiel waited.

Frankly, it was not surprising when the demon shot Castiel’s old vessel. Claire Novak, still active and aware, began to scream out and struggle, demanding that Castiel to save the man. Castiel ignored her, still waiting.

When one of the demons restraining Sam Winchester moved to kill Claire Novak, Castiel struck. The boys took advantage of his distraction, of course, fighting off their captors. It didn’t take long for them to overpower the demons, they were both accomplished warriors.

It was unexpected to see Sam Winchester feeding bloodily on the demon. Unexpected, but it did explain a lot about the nature of Sam’s psychic abilities.

Once the last demon was exorcised, Castiel turned towards his old vessel. The man was very obviously dying, vital signs fading rapidly. Claire had never really quietened, begging for Castiel to attend to him, but now her voice had taken on a note of despair.

“Of course we keep our promises. Of course you have our gratitude. You have served us well, but now your work is done. It’s time to go home, your real home. You’ll forever rest in the fields of the Lord. Rest now, Jimmy.”

Jimmy did not. Struggling for air, still he forced out more words. Castiel had to admit, the Novaks were strong souls.

“No. Claire.”

“She’s with me now. She is one of the chosen. It’s in her blood, as it is in yours.”

“Please, Castiel. Me, just take me. Please, take me instead.”

Castiel considered it. It was a little unusual for any vessel to be reused, mainly because playing host to an angel was not kind to a soul, but Jimmy was a preferable vessel to Claire. No angel preferred taking children as vessels over adults. Entire bloodlines could be lost that way, and most child vessels were awful for channelling power. Even during the brief time since Castiel had assumed control of Claire Novak, it was obvious his speed and accuracy were reduced. Really, taking Jimmy back as a vessel was the best course of action.

“I want to make sure you understand what you are asking. You will not die, or age. If this last year was painful for you, picture a hundred, a thousand more like it. Would you not rather rest in Paradise?”

“It doesn’t matter. You take me. You just take me.”

“As you wish.”

Returning to the vessel of Jimmy Novak was like taking breath for the first time. Every cell felt familiar, and comfortable. This was Castiel’s true vessel.

Standing, Castiel walked past Claire to the Winchesters. Amelia was embracing her daughter, staring as tears ran down her face. Claire was glaring from within her mother’s arms, radiating strongly of betrayal.

Castiel turned away. It was necessary that Castiel have a vessel, even if that meant causing pain to a human family. It would not be long before all worthy humans were returned to Paradise anyway, once Heaven was victorious.

“Cas, hold up. What were you gonna tell me?”

Dean still called him Cas, as if they were equals. As if they were friends. He turned to meet Dean’s eyes.

“I learned my lesson while I was away, Dean. I serve Heaven, I don’t serve Man, and I certainly don’t serve you.” Even if that meant deceiving Dean. Even if that meant trapping Dean as the eternal vessel for Michael.

Castiel walked from the room, choosing to wait until he was out of sight before flying away.


	8. Chapter 8

Dean was calling.

He had been calling for days, praying for Castiel to visit. Pain was woven into every word, some deep ache resonating from Dean and across the miles until it reached his grace.

Castiel ignored him. There were seals to protect. It was Heaven’s will.

Dean’s prayers began to evolve over time. His vocal prayers grew harsher, angrier. The unspoken longing grew sharper, more desperate. Dean was breaking, forced to watch his brother suffer through the withdrawal from drinking demon blood.

Castiel ignored him. Zachariah wanted him to defend these seals.

Except.

Except there was something not right. Their defense was obvious, making it easy to identify and avoid the danger it presented. And there were very few seals left. Tactically, it made more sense to destroy Lilith now, before she became the last seal, rather than defend the dozens of possible remaining seals. They should have been focusing their forces on her all along.

It was almost like Zachariah wanted the seals to break.

Surely, it wouldn’t hurt to visit Dean once. Answer his prayer, and confirm there was nothing Castiel could do to help.

Zachariah seemed to agree.

“Why, of course, Castiel! You should definitely go to the Winchesters. Dean trusts you quite a lot, we can use that.”

“You would allow me, sir?”

“I’ve been meaning to send someone to check on Sam Winchester for a while, too. It’s good you brought this opportunity to my attention.”

“Of course, sir.”

“Yes, we’d need to do this eventually. Castiel, I need you to recruit Dean. Get him ready for his part once Lucifer rises. Make him declare his allegiance to Heaven. It will be much easier to get him ready for Michael if the vessel is kept happy and content. You will be leaving out the whole ‘being a vessel for an archangel’ of course. That man is far too proud to sit passively and let someone else take the wheel.”

Lie to Dean. Use what little trust Dean had for Castiel to manipulate him into saying yes.

“I’ll be needing you to free Sam, while you’re at it. The stage is set for Lilith’s death, and good riddance.”

“There’s only one seal left?”

“Oh, didn’t I mention that? I suppose I didn’t. That would be why you’ve had no battles in the past few days.”

Defending the seals was simply a way to keep Heaven’s forces occupied. It seemed obvious in retrospect.

“Off you go, now. Play with the mud monkeys, I’m going back upstairs.”

Zachariah left his vessel behind, of course. The man nearly instantly began to blubber, hands rubbing fiercely at the sides of his head as if to ward off a headache. The vessel collapsed a few seconds later.

Castiel resisted the urge to interfere. Zachariah would not appreciate him mucking around with his vessel, even if only to heal it.

Castiel flew to Dean’s side.

They were in the junkyard behind Bobby Singer’s house.

“What do you want?”

Dean spun to face him, obviously surprised to see Castiel there at all. The man fortified quickly, stepping closer, his thoughts buzzing with suspicion and relief. Scanning more closely, Castiel could pick up Dean’s worry for Sam, currently caught deeply in the throes of withdrawal from the consumption of demon blood. The younger Winchester was not doing well, his own psychic abilities turning vicious along with his thoughts. Helplessness was driving Dean mad. His prayers, still calling unspoken across the distance between them, were a last desperate plea for Castiel’s help.

But still, he was cautious.

“What the Hell happened in Illinois?”

Castiel’s abduction and subsequent disciplining for treason. It was fine. He served Heaven, as things should be. Castiel was loyal.

“What do you mean?”

“Cut the crap, Cas! You were gonna tell me something!”

Lie. Castiel was loyal to Heaven.

“It was not of import.”

“You got ass-reamed in Heaven, but it was not of import?”

Castiel’s punishment had been warranted. He had allowed doubt to overcome him, until he considered treason. Castiel knew better now. He was better now. Heaven had fixed him. Dean would not infect him with doubt again.

Except doubt had been there for years, since Ananchel fell, since before that even—

Doubt was human. Castiel did not doubt.

His vessel’s hands were trembling. Castiel hid them in the pockets of his coat.

“Dean. It was not of import. Get to the reason you’re praying for me. It’s Sam, isn’t it? He is the only reason you would reach out.”

“Can he do it? Kill Lilith? Stop the apocalypse?”

This was his Father’s design. It was the will of God.

“Possibly, yes.” Certainly. It was written. “You know he’d have to take certain steps, correct?”

“Crank up the hell-blood regimen.”

Castiel nodded. Dean was pale, obviously disturbed by the idea of drinking blood. Zachariah’s orders resonated across his mind. Dean had to be made loyal to Heaven too. He had to be shown Heaven was the better path. Perhaps, if he fully conceded to Heaven’s will, then Michael might relinquish him after Lucifer was vanquished. Surely Michael would love Dean, if he only knew him. Michael would give him freedom again, and even though Sam Winchester would be lost, at least Dean would be able to live in Paradise.

Dean would weep for his brother.

“Consuming the amount of blood necessary to destroy Lilith would change Sam forever. Most likely, he would be the next creature you felt compelled to kill. There is no reason this would have to come to pass, Dean. We believe it’s you, Dean, not your brother. The only question for us is if you would be willing to accept it. Stand up and accept your role. You can still stop this.”

“If I do this, Sammy doesn’t have to?”

So ready to accept, to sacrifice himself, if only it kept Sam safe. Would Dean ever forgive Heaven the murder of his brother, even if said brother was merely the vessel for the devil? No. Dean’s soul would never find peace, not even in Paradise.

Killing his brother was going to break him.

Castiel was shaping him to be Heaven’s weapon, and Dean still trusted him.

“If it gives you comfort to see it that way.” His voice sounded hollow to his own ears.

“God, you’re a dick these days.”

Dean turned away, apparently to help hide the swell of concern he felt for Castiel, momentarily disrupting the worry he felt for his brother. Dean truly had no idea of the degree to which Castiel could observe his thoughts, or Castiel was sure he would have demanded privacy. Either way, his concern was wasted. Castiel was fine. He was a servant of Heaven. He was loyal to Heaven. Soon Dean would also be loyal to Heaven, and everything would be fine. It was all going to be fine. The sacrifice of Sam would not be in vain, and Humanity would be saved, and Dean would be at peace. Safe. It was all going to be fine, because God’s plan was just and good and righteous and Lucifer had to be stopped.

Dean would be fine. Dean would see the necessity of Sam’s sacrifice. Dean would be at peace.

Wrong. This was wrong.

Dean was right, and Heaven was wrong and this path was too callous and there would be blood across the world and Sam would die and Dean would scream—

No. Those thoughts were treason, doubt infecting Castiel again from being too close to Dean Winchester. Humans were dangerous and faithless. Angels existed to guide them, protect them. Castiel existed to guide Dean to his Fate. Dean would not make Castiel doubt.

Heaven’s path was righteous.

Castiel was loyal to Heaven.

Castiel was a servant to Heaven.

Castiel was the will of God.

Castiel would protect the Michael Sword.

Serving Heaven would destroy Dean, not protect him.

“Fine. I’m in.”

Dean. He radiated surety, striding back towards Castiel. Dean would do anything to protect his brother, even entrusting himself to forces he knew were not going to work in his best interest.

Castiel had convinced him to doom himself.

“You give yourself over wholly to the service of God and his angels?”

“Yeah, exactly.”

“Say it.”

“I give myself over wholly to serve God and you guys.”  

It was not the same as giving permission for an angel to take him as a vessel, but they both knew words held power. Castiel could feel Dean’s promise begin to take hold, a vow that would bind him as tightly as any spell. Dean would serve God. It was written.

“You swear to follow his will and his word as swiftly and obediently as you did your own father’s?”

“Yes, I swear.” The vow snapped tight. Dean didn’t feel a thing, but he was now trapped by his word as surely as any angel bound by holy fire. “Now what?”

“Now, you wait, and we will call you when it’s time.”

Dean was standing immediately before him, now. Only a few inches separated them, despite the fact that there was space all around. Castiel didn’t mind. It gave him the chance to memorise Dean – his features, his mind, his constantly shifting emotions, the exact shade of his soul – because surely this would be one of their very last meetings. Sam was to be set free, and Lucifer would rise. Dean, kept safe in a stronghold crafted by Heaven, would accept Michael, and the Archangels would do battle. After today, Castiel would be lucky to ever see Dean again. Instead Michael’s glorious power would consume everything that made his friend human.

The soul bond. The scar left by Castiel’s grace as he reconstructed Dean’s body. Castiel had to undo it before Michael discovered it.

Castiel didn’t move.

Through their bond, Dean’s soul was clinging to his grace, drawing comfort from his presence, his power. On the level of his soul, Dean knew him thoroughly, even if consciously Dean did not. Dean trusted him because Castiel had rescued him, again and again. On that deepest level, beneath even Castiel’s thoughts, they understood each other. Dean knew Castiel would not betray him with the same certainty that he knew to breathe, and Castiel had just used that certainty to doom both him and his brother.

“Cas? You okay, buddy?” Dean’s voice was soft, attempting not to disturb the quiet that had fallen before them. His eyes had grown large with concern at Castiel’s prolonged silence, though he didn’t move away. “Won’t those feathered dicks upstairs be wondering where you got to?”

“No. They know I am here.”

“Big brother’s watching, huh?”

“Yes. It is the way things should be.”

Something like pity crept into Dean’s gaze.

“You poor bastard. You don’t even know what they took from you, do you?”

Castiel frowned. Dean’s thoughts on the matter made very little sense, circling around the concepts of privacy and freedom. What use did Castiel have for either? He was an angel of the Host, loyal to Heaven. Only the disloyal had need to keep their privacy.

There was something wrong with that last thought, something illogical—

It didn’t matter. Castiel was loyal to Heaven.

His hands were still trembling, hidden in their pockets.

“I am fine, Dean.”

“Sure you are. No argument here!”

Dean reached out to grab his wrist, extracting his left hand from its pocket. Castiel was not able to stop the trembling before Dean noticed, although it seemed like Dean was almost expecting it.  More gently, he drew out Castiel’s other hand, holding both between them. Castiel didn’t resist, and as his focus dropped the trembling began again. It didn’t matter. Dean had already seen.

In response, Dean’s hands smoothed over his own. Strong thumbs began to massage the flesh of his palms in an almost idle manner, aiming for comfort. Dean was attempting to ground him, as if Castiel was in need of his assistance. Castiel was an angel of the Lord. He did not need to be coddled like some human having an anxiety attack. Castiel was stronger than this. He had the forces of all Earth’s angels under his command.

Castiel did not draw his hands away. He could not even meet Dean’s gaze.

“I know something bad went down when you were dragged back to Heaven. I get you don’t want to talk about it now. But I swear, once we are done here, once the locks are all back on Lucifer’s cage, I will find whichever angel’s responsible for this and I will make them pay.”

Castiel blinked, staring at the movement of Dean’s hands. Such a simple action.

“Why?”

“’Cause you deserve better than this, Cas. You shouldn’t be punished for thinking freely.”

Castiel was betraying this man. Had already betrayed him. Was planning on doing worse, and Dean was trying to comfort him, even as Dean worried for his brother.

Castiel drew his hands away, stepping back from Dean. Immediately, he wanted to step closer again, seek refuge in the shelter of Dean’s soul. Already Dean was corrupting him again, infecting him with doubt and Castiel was allowing it. Why was he allowing it?

“I serve Heaven. What you speak of is blasphemy. I was disciplined because I was wrong, the punishment was just and fair. There is no need to seek retribution.” Castiel’s eyes darted up to find Dean’s. That same pity remained. It set his teeth on edge. “Heaven will contact you when we have need.”

With that, Castiel flew out of sight, landing in the basement of Bobby Singer’s house.

The soul bond was still intact. Castiel hadn’t unwoven it, or the spellwork that concealed it. Couldn’t bring himself to dissolve that last little bit of understanding and acceptance that existed between them while Dean still walked free and alive.

It didn’t matter. Dean would be taken as a vessel and Michael would discover the bond – Castiel’s illicit claim on Dean’s soul and vessel. Michael would likely smite him for the infraction. It was only what Castiel deserved for his deceptions and crimes, against both Heaven and Dean. He was a traitor to both.

Focusing his grace, Castiel snapped open the restraints that held Sam Winchester trapped. The door swung open slowly, and Sam was quick to take advantage, slipping out of the room and into the house above. Relocking the door, Castiel only stayed long enough to ensure Sam had fully escaped.

After everything, it was almost easy to betray Ananchel too. He watched as she was dragged struggling back to Heaven, singing out in terror and dread. When they passed fully up into Heaven, Castiel turned back to the river.

It wouldn’t be much longer now.


	9. Chapter 9

“Hello, Dean.”

Dean didn’t answer, warily glancing about the room. Castiel supposed that was only to be expected. Not ten seconds ago, he had been in Bobby Singer’s living room. His favourite foods and drinks covered the table in a luxurious spread as a sign of Heaven’s hospitality. Dean was even more wary of the newly created food, apparently.

Zachariah materialised in front of him, folding his two pairs of wings neatly out of sight. Dean flinched, but he did well to hide it.

“Well, hello there, Dean. You’re looking fit.”

“So what’s this? The suite life of Zach and Cas?” Dean’s thoughts flickered to a pair of blonde teenagers in a hotel decorated with a rich green. Still, Castiel wasn’t entirely sure what Dean meant. He kept his silence, choosing to follow his superior’s lead.

Dean, apparently tired of waiting for his joke to be acknowledged, simply gave a sigh.

“…nevermind. Where the hell am I?”

“Call it a green room. We’re closing in on the grande finale, here. We want to keep you safe until showtime. You should try a burger. They’re your favourite, from that seaside shack in Delaware. You were eleven, I believe?”

Predictably, Dean only grew more uneasy. He was never very appreciative of powerful displays of the supernatural. Zachariah didn’t seem to notice.

“I’m not hungry.”

“No? How about Ginger from season two of “Giligan’s Island”? You do have a thing for her, don’t you?”

“Tempting. Weird.”

“We’ll throw in Mary-Ann for free.”

It was astounding how wrong Zachariah’s assumptions of Dean’s character were, especially considering he was actively searching Dean’s mind for any cravings or favourites or old fantasies he could bring to life. These weren’t the things that would bring Dean comfort before a battle. He was too much action and focus to care for hedonism when preparing for a fight. Hedonism came later, when he was revelling in victory and the wonders of life. How could Zachariah misunderstand something so fundamental about the man?

“No, no. Let’s bail on the holodeck. I want to know what the game plan is.”

“We’ll worry about that. We just need you nice and relaxed. Focused.”

“Well, I’m pissed and about to leave, so you better start talking, Chuckles.”

“You were so much more polite when you thought you were a simple office drone. Alright. All the seals have fallen, bar one.”

“Wow. That’s an impressive score you got there, right up with the Washington Generals.”

“You think sarcasm’s appropriate, do you?” Zachariah’s wings were beginning to spread again, an invisible sign of his irritation. Castiel felt his eyes grow wide with alarm. If Zachariah decided to strike at Dean, there was no way Castiel could intervene. He didn’t have the authority. Zachariah would simply summon the other warriors and have Castiel barred from entering again. “Considering you started this with your weakness? But the final seal… it’s different.”

“How?”

“Lilith has to break it. She’s the only one who can. Tomorrow night at midnight.”

“Where?”

“We’re working on it.”

“Well, work harder!”

“We’ll do our job! Just make sure you do yours.”

“Yeah, and what is that, exactly? If I’m supposed to be the one to stop her, how? With the knife? A spell?”

“All in good time.”

“Now’s a good time!”

“Have faith.”

“What, in you? Give me one good reason why I should.”

Apparently, that was challenge enough. Zachariah pressed forwards, forcing himself into Dean’s space, his wings spreading wide and around the hunter. Dean shivered, as if aware of the sudden danger he was in, somehow able to sense the wings looming around him.

“You swore your obedience, Dean Winchester. So obey.”

Dean’s eyes slid past Zachariah to find Castiel, something hurt and angry within them. Castiel couldn’t hold his gaze. Dean was not yet aware of how thoroughly the vow bound him. He would be soon enough.

Castiel fled before Zachariah dismissed him, settling into his station outside of the green room. A moment later, Zachariah flew past, abandoning his vessel once more as he returned to Heaven. This time the man didn’t make a noise, simply curling on his side on the warehouse floor, eyes wide and vacant.

* * *

 

Castiel heard Dean’s prayer for several minutes before the man vocalised his request. Zachariah gave him permission to enter the room almost immediately, snidely commenting on the mindlessness of foot soldiers.

Castiel landed in the room just as Dean sent a ceramic figure tumbling to the floor. He seemed to sense Castiel’s appearance, spinning to face him with a guilty expression that quickly morphed into false innocence. Castiel felt his lips twitch. Sometimes, Dean could be so very ridiculous.

“You asked to see me?”

“Uh, yeah. Listen, I uh – I need something.”

“Anything you wish.”

“I need you to take me to see Sam.” To gain his forgiveness went unspoken. Dean’s guilt over their last confrontation was growing by the second, it was practically a tangible thing. Still, the safest option was to play dumb. Castiel could not allow him to escape the room, even for a short trip. Besides, any interference with Sam would delay the breaking of the last seal.

“Why?”

“There’s something I got to talk to him about.”

“What’s that?”

“The B.M. I took this morning. What’s it to you? Just make it snappy.”

“I don’t think that’s wise.”

Something changed in Dean’s posture. Some shift into aggression. He was beginning to realise the true nature of Heaven’s care.

“I didn’t ask for your opinion.”

“Have you forgotten what happened the last time you and Sam met?”

“No. That’s the whole point of meeting up. Listen, I’m going to do whatever you fuckers want, okay? I just have to tie up this one thing first. Five minutes – that’s all.”

“No.”

“What do you mean, no? Am I trapped here?”

“You can go wherever you want.”

“Super. I want to go to Sam.”

“Except there.”

“I want to take a walk.”

“Fine. I’ll go with you.”

“Alone.”

“No.”

“You know what? Fuck this. Screw you motherfuckers. I’m out of here.”

“Through what door?”

It was barely an effort. Dean spun to face him, growling out obscenities. Castiel merely stepped outside. A lack of doors meant nothing to an angel.

Dutifully, he recited the entire interaction up to Zachariah, who sighed heavily, before returning back to Earth. Retaking his vessel, Zachariah roughly cuffed Castiel with his wings. It was a show of power. Castiel did not react, though he felt the eyes of the other angels watching.

Castiel was a loyal servant of Heaven. This was how things had to be.

* * *

 

Midnight was approaching. Zachariah had once again opted to spend his time in Heaven, leaving Castiel and barely a dozen angels as guards. Dean, from within the room, had been trying to make calls all these hours, desperately trying to reach his brother. His panic was beginning to give in to despair as it grew later and later and became obvious his actions would have no effect. Still he tried. He tried, again and again. What else could he do?

Castiel could barely stand it.

Flying back into the room, he confronted Dean.

“You can’t reach him. Stop calling. You’re outside your coverage zone.”

“What are you gonna do to Sam?”

“We’re not going to do anything. He’s going to do it himself.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Castiel nearly answered. Nearly spilled the truth. What did it matter when Dean was practically their prisoner?

Except that Dean was a hunter, and an exemplar one at that. If he managed to escape, Castiel would not be the one responsible for his success. Castiel was loyal to Heaven. He would not betray his family again.

Still, he could not meet Dean’s eyes. Dean, who promised only days ago to avenge Castiel’s injuries. Dean, who gathered him close in an attempt to soothe, to heal, simply because he could and Castiel had needed it.

“Oh, right, right. Got to toe the company line. Why are you here, Cas?”

Castiel flinched at his harsh words, though he knew he deserved much worse. Even now, Dean called him Cas, as if they were friends. Suddenly, Castiel found he had words, things Dean needed to hear. They tumbled past his lips, ungoverned.

“We’ve been through much together, you and I. And I just wanted to say, I’m sorry it ended like this.”

“Sorry?” Dean growled, and then suddenly Dean was lunging forwards, punching Castiel across the face. He didn’t react in time, and Dean flinched back from his grace-hardened flesh, flexing his hand in pain. Castiel reached forwards to tap it with one finger – quick enough Dean could not retreat – and allowed his grace to heal the fracture. Dean still drew away from the contact sharply.

“It’s Armageddon, Cas! You need a bigger word than sorry!”

“Try to understand. This is long foretold. This is your…”

“Destiny? Don’t give me that “holy” crap! Destiny, God’s plan? It’s all a bunch of lies, you poor, stupid son of a bitch! Just something your bosses made up to keep you all in line! You know what’s real? People! Families – that’s real! You’ve seen them, all those little pains and joys and struggles. Works of art, you said, each filled with their own everyday little flaws. And you’re going to watch them all burn?”

Castiel shook his head. He would not let Dean’s words corrupt him. Heaven’s plan was just, even if thousands died. Even if millions died. Even if he prayed for his Father to intervene and save them all. It was the will of Heaven. Zachariah’s words, Uriel’s words, Hester’s, Rachel’s, Balthazar’s, every criticism of humanity he had ever heard materialised in his head. Why did they deserve saving, if they were so flawed? Why not angels? Why was there no afterlife for Astarael and Yrael, or Balthazar or Ariel or the countless other angels dead? Why did Dean have the freedom to choose his will, to choose who to save and where to go? Why was Castiel punished for choosing to side with him, to follow him when it was obvious his way was kinder? Why did Castiel have to follow the wrong, and doom so many lives?

“What is so worth saving?” His voice was shaking. “I see nothing but pain here. I see inside you, Dean. I see your guilt, your anger, your confusion. In Paradise, all is forgiven. You’ll be at peace. Even with Sam.”

Except every word was a lie, twisting on Castiel’s tongue, because Michael would never let him go. Lucifer would never release Sam, damning him to the pit or worse. Dean would never know peace, and it was Castiel’s fault, he had doomed him to an eternity of torture, and many human souls would not ascend to Paradise, millions were still marked for Hell or limbo, only the chosen would ascend, and why was everything so wrong? Why did so many have to die? Why was Heaven’s way so destructive? Why couldn’t Lucifer and Michael fight across the surface of another planet? They were hardly bound to the Earth.

Why did Dean’s presence cause him to doubt so completely in Heaven? Why did he want Dean to convince him?

“You can take your peace and shove it up your lily-white ass! ‘cause I’ll take the pain and the guilt. I’ll even take Sam as is! It’s a lot better than being some Stepford bitch in Paradise! Cas! No more crap about being a good soldier! There is a right and there is a wrong here, and you know it!”

Of course Castiel knew it. He turned away from Dean, and he could barely think. Heaven’s way was wrong, very wrong. It had been for millennia, shaped around fear and horror at death and nothingness. Lucifer’s sentiment resonated with many angels, even if his methods did not. Trained to be warriors, to not feel at all in order to prevent grief – it was easy to grow jealous of humanity. God’s favourites, free to love and fight and sin and delight at life before ascending to Heaven, or falling to Hell, and living again for eternity, guarded from the voidkin at the expense of the angels.

“Look at me!”

Dean was spinning him back around, and could he not have a moment’s respite? Castiel could not disobey. Right or wrong, he served Heaven. He had to serve Heaven. He had no free will like humans did.

Except that was a lie, wasn’t it, he’d already betrayed Heaven once—

“You know it’s wrong! You were gonna help me once, weren’t you? You were gonna warn me about all this, before they dragged you back to Bible camp. Help me – now. Please.”

Castiel shivered.

“What would you have me do?”

“Get me to Sam. We can still stop this, before it’s too late.”

“I do that, we’ll all be hunted. We’ll all be killed.”

“If anything is worth dying for…this is it.”

Castiel shook his head, breaking away from Dean’s gaze. Dean didn’t understand, not truly. After being killed, Dean would simply be returned to his body, none the worse for his brief death and trapped ever more thoroughly by Heaven’s forces. Castiel, on the other hand, would be gone. Gone forever, into the Empty and split into energy. Nothing of him would remain, except perhaps his blade.

Their actions would be futile. There was no point. Heaven had already won. Heaven was wrong and they had won, and the humans would all die, and this was Castiel’s fault, if he had been stronger or quicker or smarter, he could have warned Dean earlier, warded him from Heaven’s vision, kept him safe until they could strike—

“You spineless, soulless son of a bitch.”

Castiel froze, staring ahead as Dean walked away.

“What do you care about dying? You’re already dead. We’re done.”

“Dean—”

“We’re done!”

Castiel flinched harshly, flying from the room, spinning away from the empty warehouse and the other soldiers until he landed in a field, alone. Unsteady, he fell to his knees, wings falling low. His head was heavy. His eyes burned. His breathing was rough. Odd that his vessel reacted so viscerally.

Trembling fingers traced through the wild grasses, digging past them into the dirt. The scent of earth was strong. Rich. Alive. Petrichor. The simple plants stretched slowly, reaching towards the energy of his grace.

He felt his stomach twisting.

Why? Why was this grief so much more vivid than any he felt at the deaths of his kin? Dean was not dead, kept safe. It was merely his trust, his regard for Castiel that lay shattered. Why did the idea cause him so much misery? When had this human risen so far in his regard as to make Castiel consider treason? Twice? Of course, Dean would not live much longer, not truly. Michael was no more likely to relinquish his vessel than Lucifer. Forevermore, Dean’s soul would be trapped, smothered by fiery Grace, never to revisit Heaven.

It was so much worse than death.

Only a few weeks ago, Castiel had considered rebelling. Considered warning this good man just what was ahead, what the angels had planned. Dean could avoid that eternal fate if he tried. He could lead humanity past the forces of Heaven and Hell, avoid the apocalypse entirely.

Of course Zachariah had noticed his hesitance. Of course he had been taken back to Heaven.

And now Dean was stuck, trapped on the path to his own destruction, an unwilling servant in the destruction of Earth.

No.

No, Castiel would not allow it. There was still a chance, a slim hope to evade this fate. At the very least, Castiel could free Dean to pursue his brother.

Flying back to the room, Castiel quickly pressed a hand against Dean’s mouth to silence him. Dean, oddly, didn’t struggle to escape. His eyes, though alarmed at first, quickly relaxed, his emotions shifting towards questioning. Castiel lifted a finger to his mouth, confirming the need for silence. The angels were not all-seeing. This room, formed of Grace and folded space, could be manipulated into whatever was necessary to contain Dean Winchester. They had no need to watch him, now he was trapped. That didn’t mean they weren’t listening. Honestly, considering Castiel’s recent rebellion, it seemed absurd he was allowed contact with Dean at all, even if it was being monitored.

Slowly, Castiel reached for Dean’s knife. Dean, of all wonders, didn’t resist as Castiel took his only weapon. He smiled, just a little, at the show of trust.

Of course, the sigil would work best with truly human blood, but he would not harm Dean intentionally. Not now, and certainly not in the future. Castiel was done with betraying his friend and the hopes that Heaven would be kind to whatever remained of humanity. Dean’s path was the right one. Only Dean worked for the salvation of all mankind, and not simply Heaven’s chosen.

He had to work quickly. The guardians would notice something amiss the closer the sigil got to being complete. Dean stood beside him, eyes bright with disbelief and hope.

Zachariah arrived as Castiel completed the sigil.

“Castiel. I’d say this was unexpected, but – well, it is you. Heaven’s bleeding heart. You can’t possibly think you can stop this now?”

“We can try.”

Thankfully, the banishing worked. Unseen, he felt the angels beyond the walls of the room disappear too.

“Cas, what are you doing?”

“There isn’t much time. We need to stop your brother from killing Lilith. Her death is the final seal. Come on.”

Castiel took hold of his shoulder, flying them to the Prophet Chuck’s house. Dean leaned into the hold, landing with barely a stumble.

Chuck yelped.

“Hey, w-wait a second. You guys aren’t meant to be here.”

Dean stepped forwards.

“Chuck! Where is Lilith? Where is Sam going to break the Final Seal?”

“No, you’re going off-script! This isn’t what I’ve written! You’re not in this story!”

Castiel had had enough. Zachariah would send out a warning any second now.

“Yes, well, we’re making it up as we go. Chuck. Where are they?”

Chuck blinked back, before mumbling the name of a convent. At the same moment, a high whistling began. Both humans cringed before it.

“It’s the archangel! Dean! You have to go! I’ll hold them off! I’ll hold them all off!”

Dean’s eyes were wide, wild.

“They’ll kill you!”

“Dean! Stop Sam!”

With that, Castiel sent Dean spiralling through space to the convent. Chuck was staring, mouth hanging open.

“He’s right. The archangel will slaughter you.”

“It doesn’t matter. I can keep Raphael occupied long enough for Dean to make a difference.”

The light was growing brighter by the second, the whistling reaching a pitch beyond human hearing.

Staring upwards, Castiel was trying to pinpoint the exact location Raphael would strike from when he felt a hand on his shoulder, presumably in comfort. Instead the contact was merely distracting, reminding him of how little contact there had truly been between Dean and himself. How there would never be a chance to move closer, whatever closer meant. Never would he wrap Dean within the protection of his wings again. He had many more regrets and guilt over his actions as Heaven’s servant, but strangely none of them bothered him besides that simple longing to be close again to his friend. If he had to die, at least it was in service of a good cause and repaying his debts.

 Castiel blinked, shaking his somewhat maudlin thoughts as he turned to stare at the introverted man. Chuck, in response, quickly removed his touch. Turning once more to the sky, Castiel wondered how much of his thought process Chuck was able to see. If anyone was able to understand, it was the Prophet. Although, it wouldn’t make any difference now.

Raphael’s presence was surrounding the house, smothering Castiel and cutting him off from the rest of the world. Tendrils of Grace grew inwards from every direction, sharpening into weapons.

He wasn’t going to last long. Maybe, though, it would be long enough for Dean.

Raphael’s first strike was heralded by the sound of air parting before lightning. Castiel was somehow able to dodge it, darting across the room. The second attack missed too, though the third pierced cleanly through his left tertiary wing. Castiel screamed, twisting the song into a blade of energy. Raphael didn’t even try to dodge, simply absorbing the attack.

Darting to avoid another attack.

Raphael was laughing.

No escape.

Evasion wasn’t enough.

Spinning around, Castiel dived towards the Prophet. Raphael had to guard him.

Chuck Shurley flinched.

Raphael snarled.

Defend the Prophet. It was instinct.

Castiel dodged back.

Lightning struck.

One wing burnt off.

Grace spilling outwards.

Castiel screamed.

Escape.

Need to – need –

No.

Dean.

Raphael loomed above.

Castiel could not fail Dean.

A spell. Illusion.

Raphael struck at the image of Castiel.

Screeched in anger.

Castiel was moving.

Blade ready.

Chuck’s eyes were wild. Terrified.

Raphael was too close.

Castiel lunged—


	10. Chapter 10

Suddenly, he was.

Had he not been, before? No. Yes? There was something…

Castiel stretched out his body slowly, lethargic. His grace crept outwards, brushing across grasses and sinking into soil. Chemical signals drifted through the air from one plant to another, pleased at the influx of grace. Warmth and light played across his eyelids, and the bare skin of his hands and neck. Cicadas droned nearby, dozens of them all bathing in the late afternoon sun.

Castiel blinked up at the clear sky.

He knew this place. Traces of his grace were burnt into the very fibres of the world here. Only a few metres away, a young sapling had begun to grow from the soil of Dean’s grave. He shivered. How unusual, to feel exhaustion. His entire body felt heavy, as if it was sinking into the earth. Deep. Dark. Soft.

Drifting.

There was a sensation at the edge of his mind. Something urgent. Castiel could not focus without it slipping away.

Somewhere, in the distance, Castiel could hear traffic. Just the occasional car, perhaps a tractor of some kind. None of the wildlife around him was disturbed by it.

It felt like he had only blinked, but suddenly the sky was dark.

Castiel frowned.

His head was clearer now, enough to know he had just lost several hours. And before that… before that Raphael had killed him. He could still remember every moment of it, every pain and agony of it and then nothing. Not in the same way as just a few moments ago, the sensation of waking and knowing you had been unconscious. Before, there was nothing. Absolute nothing. Castiel had ceased to exist.

There was no afterlife for angels. Raphael had torn his Grace apart, ripping his vessel into bloody gore. What little that had been left of him would have dissipated into the universe as scraps of raw energy.

Castiel sat up, folding his legs beneath him. Raphael had killed him, so why was he here?

Dean. He had to find Dean. If he had been unsuccessful, he was in danger. The angels would be searching.

Moving to stand, Castiel realised there was something different about his vessel. Somehow, it was lighter. Movement was more fluid.

Where was Jimmy Novak? Of course, the soul would not have survived the destruction of their vessel intact. He would have been dragged to Heaven. Why had he not been resurrected too? There was a reason Heaven had invested so much in keeping the Winchesters alive. Dead flesh could not support an angel. There needed to be a soul to help support the weight of pure creation that was grace. Jimmy was not here.

It was impossible for Castiel to be inhabiting this body without Jimmy Novak also being present. Yet, here he was. The body did not blow apart under the stress, or eject his prescence. In fact, it seemed to be working better than ever. Looking more closely, it was obvious the body wasn’t entirely human. There were something similar to capillaries woven through the flesh and bone and blood. Grace flowed through them, touching every cell of this body. It was more perfectly designed to channel Grace than the body of any vessel Castiel had ever seen, obviously crafted to be some hybrid of angel and human.

Crafted for him. This body was crafted for him, Castiel, specifically.

There wasn’t the time to wonder about the implications of all of that. Castiel focused on the signal of Dean’s soul, and flew, touching down inside a dimly lit room cluttered with weapons and cursed objects.

Zachariah.

Zachariah was here.

Zachariah was torturing Dean, Sam too.

Castiel was already moving, blade sliding into the flesh of one of the angels flanking Zachariah. The other sprang to attack. Castiel snarled, outmanoeuvring them quickly. There was a reason Castiel was captain of the Earthly Garrison, despite not being the most powerful of Heaven’s soldiers. Seconds later, the angel was dead. Zachariah, alone now, was motionless. Watching. His wings were poised, ready to fly at a second’s notice. Castiel was faster, a much better warrior, and they both knew it. He would not be able to escape should Castiel choose to attack. Any call for assistance, and Castiel would slaughter him.

Castiel’s thoughts flicked across Dean’s mind, picking up recent memories. Torture. Chuck Shurley. Sam’s lungs missing. Lucifer rising. Bobby was in hospital. A demon called Meg. Appearing on an airplane. A woman called Becky. The Michael Sword. Dean knew. They knew they were vessels. Dean had refused Michael. There was still a chance.

“How are you…”

Castiel shifted to face Zachariah, spreading his own wings wide, all six of them. Grace lined each edge, beautiful weaponry to match the blade in his hand. Zachariah shrank before the display. Sam was beginning to suffocate. Dean struggled towards him, helpless.

“Alive? That’s a good question. How did these two end up on that airplane? Another good question, ‘cause the angels didn’t do it, not when you could just resurrect them. I think we both know the answer, don’t we?”

Zachariah shivered, his wings folding back submissively. Castiel could nearly taste his doubt.

“No. That’s not possible.”

“It scares you. Well, it should. Now put these boys back together and go.”

Zachariah didn’t move. Sam was beginning to spasm.

“I won’t ask twice.”

The boys gasped out in relief as they were healed, as Zachariah fled. It was over. They were safe.

Castiel swallowed, wings folding down from display as he let the illusion fall. How was he exhausted again so easily? The illusion had been a very simple one, barely enough to stand up to more than basic scrutiny. It was only Zachariah’s uneasiness at seeing a dead angel alive again that had allowed it to pass. The stump where his wing had been before Raphael tore it off was throbbing, the injury reopened by his flight. Grace was slowly oozing from the wound, making his head spin.

Why were his wounds not healing?

The brothers were up.

“You two need to be more careful. Angels are powerful foes.” And it seemed like Castiel would not be able to help as freely, if magic was going to be this draining in the future.

“Yeah, I’m starting to get that. Your frat brothers are bigger dicks than I thought.”

Dean’s soul was flickering with relief, calling for Castiel to step closer as he helped to support his brother. Had Dean missed him? That was…Castiel was Dean’s friend. He hadn’t been aware Dean saw him as a friend too, especially after their last argument. 

“Not just the angels. Lucifer will be close to taking a vessel by now. Hex bags won’t be enough to shield you anymore.”

Castiel took the opportunity to lean over, carving enochian wards across the ribcages of both Dean and Sam. The effort made his head spin faster, but thankfully it faded after a second.

The brothers flinched, hissing during the second it took to heal. Castiel was satisfied to notice that they immediately faded from his celestial senses, souls hidden. Although, he could nearly sense Dean’s presence. It was an odd sensation, like an afterimage burned into his retina, tasting of his own grace. It took a moment for him to identify it as the soulscar from the time they had first met.

“What the hell did you just do?” Dean barked out in surprise.

“Enochian sigils. They will shield you from every angel in existence, including Lucifer.”

“What, did you just brand us?”

“No. I carved it into your ribs.”

Apparently Dean had no response to that. Castiel attempted a smile, but it was getting more difficult to stand without wavering. He really needed the opportunity to rest properly, to heal. The boys were warded now, but they all had to move on quickly. Zachariah would move past his doubt soon, send angels to investigate.

Castiel had to leave them. Warding an angel from angelic senses was very different than shielding a human. By nature, they were all somewhat aware of each other, tuned into a psychic network linking all of Heaven. Breaking from that network, at least to the degree he would need to stay safe, would require nearly constant effort, or powerful spellwork. As it was, any of Zachariah’s trackers would be able to find him until he was recovered enough to create a new warding.

He needed somewhere safe. Where was safe? Was there…where could he go? Shawnee was too obvious, same with Dean’s grave, or the Singer house. Somewhere random, then.

Castiel swayed, stumbling.

“Hey! Whoa, Cas. You alright?” Dean’s hand was bracing his arm. Sam stood alone, already recovered, staring wide-eyed. Castiel straightened up, breathing heavily.

“Fine. I suggest you leave quickly. The angels will be returning soon.”

“Zachariah said you were dead.”

“I was.”

“What, you just walked it off? We saw the mess at Chuck’s place!”

Dean would be very comfortable to lean on and rest, were he to ever be silent. He shrugged off Dean’s hand, stepping away. The action only seemed to make the man angry. He didn’t have time for this. Why was Dean so frustrating, sometimes?

“I was dead, and now I’m not. We need to leave.”

“We’re not going anywhere until you give me a straight answer! You look like you could faint any minute!”

“Tell me, Dean, when you woke up after dying, how close were you to being at full strength? I did my best to craft your vessel without any injury or scarring. Apparently whoever brought me back decided against that courtesy, leaving me with all the same wounds I had before I died. I’m exhausted. I need to heal. I’ll get over it. Now, I must implore you once more to leave this place before any of my more competent brothers or sisters choose to investigate and realise exactly how poorly-equipped I am to defend either of you at the moment.”

Dean, apparently, had no response, and neither did Sam.

Tentative, Castiel stretched out his wings, ignoring the ache spreading across his body. He had strength enough for a short flight, flying from the room before Dean could voice another objection. He landed hard, stumbling to his hands and knees.

Panting, he sat back to inspect his surroundings. It was a meadow, wildgrasses and scrub surrounded by old trees in all directions. No humans nearby that he could sense. No roads or structures. It would do.

Staggering to his feet, Castiel stretched out his grace to carve warding into the closest of the trees. It would not stand up to serious scrutiny without being reinfornced by holy oil or a living soul’s will, but the symbols themselves contained power too.

Feeling the wards take effect, Castiel relaxed, allowing himself to sink back towards the ground. Rest.

* * *

 

He wasn’t recovering.

It had been days. Days of feeling his grace leaking from the raw wound where his sixth wing should be. He had been able to stem the flow, somewhat, but it obviously wasn’t enough. The exhaustion at least had faded after prolonged meditation, enough so that he was confident he could come out the victor if he was to face his siblings in battle.

It was concerning, though, how underpowered he felt. His connection to Heaven felt clouded. That was probably why healing was taking so long. Castiel was certain that he would be unable to access the full range of his abilities.

Castiel. Shield of God.

Was he really still Castiel, now? He could hardly claim to be a shield of God when he was working so fervently against Heaven. He had chosen free will, rather than the supposed safety and surety of serving God. Even if his Father had brought him back and saved the brothers Winchester, he was the one to design the whole Apocalypse that the angels followed so rigidly.

Cas, then. A shield to whoever was in need of one, whoever Cas chose to guard. He could craft his new meaning around it, fill in the gaps. There was an extra appeal, knowing Dean had chosen the name for him, although he wondered if Dean understood the significance of leaving off the “el”. Cas was no longer beholden to God.

As the thought passed across his mind, he felt the connection he still had to Heaven grow ever more tenuous. An angel who didn’t seek to serve God. It was nearly the definition of Fallen.

He should regroup with the brothers.

Cas stood, stalling as he realised he had no idea where to find them. He couldn’t track them by the resonance of their souls anymore, and without a prayer to guide him, there was no other way. He could only blame his exhaustion during their last meeting for not discussing a way to stay in contact.

If he could not use angelic methods, perhaps human ones would suffice. Cas landed in the streets of Chicago, searching for a telephone booth. It wasn’t difficult to find one still intact. The city was large and well supplied. Although, standing with the phone in hand, he realised another problem. The phone required a number in order to contact anyone.

Moving out of the way of an impatient man dressed in a business suit stained by coffee, Cas leaned on the side of the booth. Surely he knew a number that would connect with Dean. He had scanned the man’s memory fairly frequently, especially during those first few weeks after they had escaped Hell.

There was one number.

Finding another free phone booth, Cas sent a precious spark of grace into the machine, coaxing it to connect despite the lack of payment.

Sam picked up.

Cas allowed himself to revel in a moment of pride at his ingenuity, before greeting the man. A few minutes later, he strode into Bobby Singer’s hospital room to find both brothers lurking defensively.

“Cell phones, Cas? Really?”

“Actually, I contacted you from a phone booth. The warding on your ribs hides you from all angels, myself included. Any exception I worked in would have been easy to exploit.”

“Yeah, thanks for that—“

“Enough foreplay! Get over here and lay your damn hands on.”

Cas blinked, momentarily thrown. The brothers too, judging by their reactions.

“Get healing. Now.”

Stepping past Dean, he examined Bobby more closely. The wound wasn’t too severe, already he could sense Bobby’s body healing. However, something more subtle had been worked underneath, something tainted with grace. Zachariah.

Concentrating, he attempted to heal the nerve damage.

“I can’t.”

“Say again?”

“I’m cut off from Heaven. It has greatly reduced the range of my abilities, particularly healing.”

He couldn’t even truly sense the extent of the damage, other than an awareness that something was wrong.

“You’re telling me you lost your mojo just in time to get me stuck in this trap the rest of my life?”

“I’m sorry.”

“Shove it up your ass.”

Bobby turned away, his anger and frustration burning, echoing across to him. Directed at him by prayer, just to be certain he knew Bobby’s pain.

Dean moved to stand by his shoulder, disappointed but silently supportive. Cas glanced at him, glad for his presence. Angels were not meant to live in isolation. After several days cut off from true contact with another being, feeling the familiar sounds of his soul was soothing on a very deep level. The bonds between all three humans were very strong, wrapped up in love and fierce devotion to each other. Together they formed a harmony reminiscent of Heaven itself, without the holy choir as backing.

Now was not the time to drift, listening to soulsong.

“We should talk.” Cas said. Dean seemed nearly startled by Cas’s voice, as if he too had been relaxing into the comfort of good company. Could Dean sense soulsong, even if it was only at the subconscious level? It was not something Cas had ever searched for, but it would certainly explain a great deal about Dean. His near unerring judgement of character. His near supernatural ability to pick out supernatural beings from among humans. His craving for friendly companions – although honestly, most intelligent beings craved companionship.

…perhaps Cas was attributing too much to an assumed ability.

“Yeah.” Dean was speaking. He had been distracted.

“You and Sam. You’re planning to kill Lucifer?”

“Yeah, you want in?”

“No. It’s foolish. It can’t be done.”

Dean snorted, eyes narrowing in frustration.

“Thanks for the support. You got a better idea?”

Cas didn’t, not exactly. His entire fight with the archangel Raphael had been over in roughly thirty seconds. Dean wouldn’t even last that long against an archangel. They needed to fight more cleverly, out-manoeuvre their opposition.

“I think I might. There is someone strong enough to stop both Michael and Lucifer. Someone who could prevent the Apocalypse indefinitely.”

“Who’s that?” Sam asked.

“God. I could find God.”

The brothers didn’t look convinced. Beyond that. Dean looked disdainful. Why? It was a valid plan, especially considering their ridiculous alternative.

“He began everything. He brought me back, and put you on that airplane. He can stop this too.”

“God.”

“Yes.”

“You’re serious?”

“Of course I am.”

“God?”

“Yes! He isn’t in Heaven. He has to be somewhere.”

“Have you tried New Mexico? I hear he’s on a tortilla.”

Cas scowled. It would be a lie to say he was unoffended by Dean’s blithe response, more so when he gained the context of Dean’s comment. At least he had an idea, which was more than Dean could say.

“My Father is not on any flatbread.”

“Listen, Feathers,” Dean began, voice dripping with condescension, “Even if there is a God, he is either dead – and that’s the generous theory—“

“He is out there, Dean.”

“—or he’s up and kicking and doesn’t give a rat’s ass about any of us.”

Cas felt his wings begin to flex in a pointless display of intimidation at the challenge in Dean’s tone as his eyes narrowed. Dean smirked, shifting to step further into Cas’s space.

“Look around you, man. He may have helped out, plucking us from the fire, but it was only to throw us back into the pan. You can’t say he doesn’t know what’s been going on, the guy’s omniscient, omnipotent, all that crap. This is literally the end of days, and he’s off drinking booze from a coconut.”

“This is not a theological issue, Dean. It’s strategic. You believe either of you can defeat Lucifer? With God’s help, we can win.”

“It’s a pipe dream, Cas.” Dean replied, shaking his head.

“Enough.” Cas growled, moving closer until Dean was forced to step back or collide. Dean’s eyes widened, almost in surprise, his posture shifting to reflect his nervousness. The memory of Cas’s threat to throw him back to Hell, nearly a year ago now, flickered across Dean’s mind.

“I’m hunted. I rebelled. I killed two of my brethren this week, my brothers, and I did it – all of it – for you, and you failed. You and your brother destroyed the world and I lost everything, for nothing. So keep your opinions to yourself.”

A faint air of contrition coloured Dean’s soul.

Bobby’s voice ripped him from contemplating the angry flush that lit up Dean’s freckles from within.

“You ain’t just here to tear us a new hole. What d’you want?”

Cas let his shoulders drop, shifting into a less confrontational stance. Sam was nearly radiant with guilt, enough to make Cas regret his harsher words. It was his fault for not warning the brothers in a timely manner about their approaching fates. Sam should not feel guilty for behaving exactly as Heaven manipulated him to.

“I came because I am fond of you three, and some of the most powerful beings in the universe are seeking you out with plans to either force your compliance or murder you all.”

A silence fell, and none of the humans seemed capable of making direct eye contact. Cas glanced between them all, confused. His eyes dropped to the amulet around Dean’s neck, and it was like something in his head snapped into place.

“Although, now that I think of it, there is something else. There is an amulet that could prove useful to me.”

That seemed to perk Bobby’s interest.

“An amulet? What kind?”

“Very rare. Very powerful. It burns hot in God’s presence. It could help me find him.”

“A God EMF?” Sam queried.

“That is an analogous description.”

“Well, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I got nothing like that.”

Cas turned to Bobby with a frown.

“How can you be certain? If it is old enough and rare enough, then there won’t be any entries about it in lore books, and it isn’t like finding God is something people do frequently.”

“Tell the WASPs that,” Dean cut in snidely. Cas ignored his addition, as did Bobby. The older hunter was scowling, but Cas picked up from his surface thoughts that he agreed with Cas’s point.

“You could easily have possession of such an item without it ever coming into use and thus revealing its power. It is the only item of its’ kind in existence, so the chances are low, but then again you have all been the playthings of Fate at Heaven’s will. I know for a fact that you did once have possession of this amulet, Bobby Singer, even though you no longer do.”

“How the Hell do you know that?”

“A second ago, the knowledge appeared in my mind, as well as the recent history of the item. I believe my Father wants me to find it, although it isn’t too far from here.”

Cas turned back to Dean, letting his eyes fall to the amulet around his neck, a trophy he knew was bestowed upon the man by his brother. Dean reached up to play with it nervously.

“What, this?”

“May I borrow it?”

“No.” The reaction was instinctive, an attempt to guard one of the few symbols Dean had left of the devotion between the brothers.

“Dean. Give me the amulet.”

Dean considered it for a surprisingly long time, before removing it, reaching out to let it dangle above Cas’s open palm.

“Don’t lose it.”

“I would never.”

Dean dropped it.

Cas nodded, stepping back.

“I’ll be in touch.”

He flew from the room.


	11. Chapter 11

Listening to what Dean had dubbed “Angel radio”, Cas was able to pick up all sorts of things. Obviously, his superiors had very little experience dealing with rogue soldiers. While they had managed to cut off Cas’s grace from contact with Heaven, and his own choice to renounce his old name had broken many of the remaining tethers, many of his abilities were completely uninhibited. Including, apparently, his ability to hear angel speech announced across Heaven. He could even pick up on some of the more private messages, with enough focus and the right spell.

Interestingly, it seemed that Raphael had found a vessel. Considering that only a week ago he’d had none and had yet to begin searching, it was quite an achievement. Raphael, of course, had not been particularly gentle convincing his vessel to accept him. Already he had been walking the world this week, visiting God if the rumours were right. 

Personally, Cas wasn’t sure. However, it was a better lead than simply wandering the Earth at random.

Capturing Raphael for interrogation would be tricky.

So Cas decided to recruit Dean.

Unfortunately he hadn’t had the foresight to scan Dean’s thoughts and pick up their most current phone numbers. Being unable to track Dean’s location was turning out to be highly frustrating. It had been over a week since they had last seen each other in person, so there was no telling where Dean could have gotten to. He was a vastly nomadic individual at the best of times, let alone when he was feeling hunted.

Singer Salvage was a good place to start a search.

Cas landed in the kitchen, turning at the sound of a shotgun cocking. Bobby was visibly shaken, but he held the weapon steady.

“I apologise. I should have alerted you before entering your home.”

Bobby huffed, lowering the weapon after another second.

“Would a shot even hurt you?”

“Probably not, but it is something I would not want to test.”

“Why are you here bothering me instead of finding God?” Bobby’s voice was laced with bitterness, and an odd trace of jealousy. He wanted so desperately to be of assistance to the brothers, to help save the oblivious world from destruction.

“I have a lead, but I would prefer to have the assistance of the brothers.”

“Then why the hell are you here?”

“With their warding, they are completely hidden from me. I must rely on human ways of contacting them.”

“You can’t just call?”

“I have no idea what their numbers are.”

“You’re not really all that useful without your powers, are you?”

Cas didn’t answer, averting his eyes from the surly man. Looking around the room, he picked out the subtle details that marked the building as a safehouse against the supernatural. Homemade charms hung hidden around the kitchen. Dried herbs and spices were stocked in bulk just out of sight, including some very rare and expensive. Sigils and runes were carved above every doorway, located at strategic places around the room to best enhance their protective effect. Bobby was a very accomplished self-taught witch.

There was only one thing missing.

“You have no angel warding up.”

“Until recently that wasn’t really an issue.”

“I can teach you.”

Bobby didn’t answer, his thoughts cycling between pragmatism, mild offense at the implication that he needed defending, and curiosity at learning new spellwork. Cas resisted the urge to smile, waiting patiently for Bobby’s answer.

“Fine. Let’s see what you can do.”

“Okay. Do you have any paper?”

Bobby didn’t answer, simply rolling into the next room. Cas followed, pausing to stand by the desk as Bobby found a notepad.

“How good is your enochian?”

“Poor. There’s more detail out there on Tolkien elvish than enochian. Most witches seemed content to just write English in enochian script.”

“So you know the runic alphabet.”

“Yeah.”

“That will be enough for now. The runes themselves can contain power, if combined with an effort of will.” Taking the notepad, Cas wrote out several of his most useful wardings. “The first few are passive. The top one here prevents any angel from noticing the building or surrounding area. The next two are more basic protections against specific angelic powers – biomanipulation and memory alteration. I’m afraid I can’t prevent dream walking or telepathy. An effort of Will could help, but without psychic ability, stealth of thought is nearly impossible.”

Bobby grunted, reading over the spells.

“What’re these symbols, underneath?”

“Active anti-angel spells. Banishment, disorientation, concealment. They are most effective when drawn out in human blood, but a tincture of goat’s blood, holy oil and gold dust would also be effective. Activate them by placing your hand upon them.”

“A sacrifice and then an effort of will.”

“Yes.”

Bobby hummed, going back to the notepad. Cas walked to stand by the window, raising his hand to begin carving the symbols around it.

He paused.

“Bobby Singer, do you mind if I add the warding myself?”

“Sure,” he snorted. “Go right ahead. Not like I can reach that far.”

Cas didn’t respond. Completing the entire house took a matter of minutes, and Cas walked back into the study to find Bobby still at his desk.

“Your house is now fully protected. Can you tell me where Dean is?”

“Well, since you won’t quit nagging. Try Montrose, Pennsylvania. He said he’d be bunking there tonight.”

“Thank you, Bobby.”

He landed in the town a second later, stretching out his senses to find Dean before remembering the action would be useless. Sighing, Cas located the all local motels and hostels, flying to each. Even with the warding, Cas would be able to recognise Dean’s thought patterns if he was close enough to hear them.

The seventh motel proved lucky.

Cas landed beside Dean, watching as the man dampened a wash cloth. He flinched when his eyes met Cas’s in the mirror.

“God, don’t do that.”

“Hello, Dean.”

Dean turned to face him.

“Cas, we’ve talked about this. Personal space?”

Cas blinked, frowning. He was entirely certain Dean had never spoken to him at all about the need for personal space. In fact, many times it was Dean who shifted closer. Whether or not he was aware of it was a different matter. Either way, Dean seemed to be finding Cas’s proximity uncomfortable.

Cas did notice Dean’s eyes hovered around his lips. He didn’t mind. Jimmy Novak had been a very attractive individual by most standards, with well-proportioned symmetrical features.

“My apologies,” he replied, stepping back. Dean grabbed his jacket, sliding past into the main room. Cas followed.

“How’d you find me? Thought I was flying below angel radar.”

“You are. Bobby told me where to find you.” Looking around the room, he noticed there was only a single bed. Even so, the room seemed emptier than normal. Fewer items of clothing, fewer weapons, only one computer on the table. “Where’s Sam?”

Dean was radiating bitterness.

“Me and Sam are taking separate vacations for a while.” A sense of finality about Dean’s tone told Cas that was the most expansive explanation he was going to receive. Had they had another fight? From what Cas remembered, it was rare for a fight to be so bad they needed time apart. Despite his curiosity, Cas chose not to pursue it.

Silence settled between them while Dean fiddled with something on the bed, a nervous behaviour meant to distract himself.

“You find God yet? More importantly, can I have my goddamn necklace back, please?”

“No, I haven’t found him. That’s why I’m here. I need your help.”

“With what?” Dean snorted. “The God hunt? Not interested.”

Cas glared. While he did understand Dean was feeling hurt, the way he continued to disrespect or belittle Cas’s efforts to assist him was very frustrating. Dean’s lack of faith did nothing to invalidate the strategic value of finding God, especially considering the strength of their opponents. Cas knew better than many the pure power that was an archangel.

“It’s not God. It’s someone else.” Perhaps his voice was a little sharper than he intended. Dean turned to him, eyes narrowed.

“Who?”

“An archangel. The one who killed me, actually.”

Something in Dean seemed to awaken at those words and take interest, something feral and angry and protective. It reminded Cas almost of a wolf catching a scent.

“His name is Raphael.”

“You were wasted by a teenage mutant ninja angel?” The somewhat humorous reference – at least, Cas was fairly certain it was meant to be humorous, it was hard to pick out exactly what Dean was referring to. Anthropomorphised tortoises? – did nothing to reduce the avenging instinct even now growing within Dean’s mind. Cas wasn’t exactly sure why he felt so strongly. It couldn’t be out of affection for him, could it? Maybe Dean really did see them as friends.

“I have been hearing whispers that Raphael found his vessel. Before Lucifer rose he had no need to walk the Earth, but now – this is an excellent opportunity.”

“You want revenge.” The snarling in Dean’s mind told Cas he was more than alright with the concept.

“No. Information.”

“Oh, that’s less fun.”

Dean chose that moment to distract himself once more, picking out a knife with a rusted stain on one side and a wash cloth. Moving to the sink, he began to work at it, though Cas could feel he still had Dean’s full attention.

“You think he knows where God’s hiding. And he’d spill that to you?”

“Yes, because we are going to trap and interrogate him.”

Dean paused, glancing back at him through the mirror.

“Our last interrogation attempt went a little south.”

“I will not allow you to be in Raphael’s presence alone. In fact, I would prefer it if you left the actual interrogation part to me.”

“What d’you even need me there for, then, buddy?”

Cas realised he wasn’t sure. He said nothing.

Dean was still staring at him through the mirror.

“D’you even have a reason I should help?”

“You’re Michael’s vessel. No angel would dare harm you.”

“So I’m your bullet shield.”

“No. Of course not.” Absurdly, Cas was beginning to feel embarrassed. He looked away. “I need your help, because you’re the only one who will. Please.”

He heard it as Dean moved close, saw him place the knife on the bed in his peripheral vision. The wolf in his mind was silent.

“Alright. Where to?”

Cas turned to Dean in surprise. The hunter shrugged, his eyes warm.

“Maine. We should leave now.”

Reaching out, he was surprised when Dean caught his hand.

“We’re not zapping anywhere. Last time, I didn’t poop for a week. No, we’re driving.”

“Okay.”

“Not for a few hours, either. I only just got off a hunt, I’m not going on a seven hour journey overnight.”

“That’s fine. I can wait.”

“Good.”

Waiting for Dean to awaken was boring, but there was nothing more urgent for Cas to attend to. Now that he’d found Dean’s location, he was reluctant to leave in case Dean left for whatever reason. It was an archangel they were facing, after all. It made sense to be a little intimidated by their chances.

There was, however, a satisfaction to be found in guarding the elder Winchester during his sleep. This wasn’t like the other times Cas had stumbled across Dean sleeping, or the times he had visited Dean’s dreams. This time, Dean was fully aware of his presence. This time, Dean had allowed Cas to remain while he was in such a vulnerable state. That Dean trusted him so deeply was very gratifying. Cas would prove himself worthy of said trust.

Dean awoke after only three hours of rest, quickly shuffling around the room to pack up his belongings. It wasn’t much longer before they were in the Impala, navigating the quiet midnight roads.

The radio filled the silence for many miles, a soft counterpoint to the rumbling of the Impala. Despite the cramped position – leaving his wings hanging through physical matter was always sort of uncomfortable – there was something soothing about travelling this way. The slow progress allowed him to pick out the passing landscape, watching how it transformed from sleepy small towns to wilder fields and copses. A surprising amount of the country was still untouched by human habitation.

They were nearly halfway there when Dean touched the radio, switching it off. Cas turned to look at him.

“Want to give me some footnotes on this Raphael guy?”

“What do you want to know?”

“Archangel. Heaven’s most terrifying weapon, right?”

“That is correct.”

“What’s our plan?”

“We’ll have to wait on a solid plan until we have investigated. It may be there is nothing we can do here, in which case the best idea would be to get out of range before Raphael notices us. I would prefer not to be caught by him again.”

“That bad, huh?”

“Whatever you’re imagining, it is very much worse than that. You have a habit of underestimating angels, Dean.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Exactly as I have said.”

Dean huffed, shifting to turn away as much as he could while driving. After a few minutes, he relented.

“Fine. What superpowers are we fighting against here?”

“Anything I am able to do, to start with, but much, much more powerful. Raphael also has access to a whole range of weather-alteration abilities, and he can smite down to the molecular level. Usually he kills slower than that. He likes to play with his opponents.”

“Sounds like a dick.”

“He is not the kindest of angels, no.”

Cas fell silent, staring back out the window. The memories of his last confrontation with Raphael were still fresh. Honestly, he wasn’t sure if the archangel would act to hurt Dean or not. His sadism – and wasn’t it bleak that so many of Heaven’s angels could be described as sadistic – made him unpredictable, especially regarding enemies of Heaven. Dean could definitely be counted among those.

He could not allow Dean to come to harm.

“Also, there is a possibility he will read your future actions from your mind.”

“What? You didn’t mention mind-reading as part of your repertoire.”

“All angels have the ability.”

“You been poking around my head, Cas?”

“Yes. I thought you already knew.”

“Like hell I knew! Keep out of my head!”

Cas flinched, drawing his presence away from Dean. Suddenly, the quiet of the road seemed much more sinister.

“I’m sorry, Dean. I didn’t know this was a privacy you preferred. It’s different for angels.”

“How much have you seen?”

“It doesn’t work like that.”

“How much!”

“Dean, calm down.”

“Damn it!”

Dean directed the car towards the side of the road, slowing to a stop. A moment later, Dean was outside, storming away down the road. Cas debated for a moment, before flying out to stand in front of the Impala. Dean appeared to be pacing, large, angry circles at the edge of the light. Nearly ten minutes passed in the same manner – Dean pacing, Cas watching.

Dean seemed calmer when he returned, stopping to lean against the car beside him.

“Right. Tell me. How does it work?”

“I’m sorry, Dean. I didn’t realise you would view this as a violation.”

“Yeah, get on with it.”

Cas sighed, staring at him.

“All angels communicate psychically. It is close enough to a native language, and we are constantly talking. While each of us is individual, there is never a moment when we cannot hear each other, even if it is only a low hum. Most of the time, we don’t listen too closely unless an angel is calling out. An angel who falls silent is declared dead.”

Dean didn’t speak, but Cas could sense his attention.

“Interacting with humans, we use the ability to speak human languages. I use it to understand the colloquialisms you use so often. I don’t actively seek your memories, but when they are at the front of your mind I cannot help but to pick them up. I can’t imagine Raphael will offer you the same respect.”

“Add some protection, then. Carve my skull with runes, whatever. I need to keep him out.”

“I’m sorry, but it doesn’t work that way.”

“Dude. You can’t just drop something like that. Isn’t there some fancy yoga thing I could do?”

“I only told you so you'd be aware of the danger. You cannot actually help it, and there is nothing I can do to block it. Without psychic ability you lack an awareness of what you sound like to other telepaths."

“Right. Awesome. That’s awesome.”

Silence fell between them. Cas tried to occupy himself, watching a distant flock of bats hunt insects beyond the edges of the light. It was difficult, keeping his grace away from Dean. There had barely been a moment, almost since they had met, when Cas was unaware of the sound of Dean’s mind and soul. The silence, without a connection to any of his brethren, was nearly painful.

“I’d understand it if you wanted no further part in my hunt.”

“Nah, it’s fine. I’m not going to let you go up against a ninja turtle alone.”

“You’ll still help me?”

“Yeah, sure. I’ll be Thelma, you be Louise. Let’s see if we can send this car off a cliff together.”

“That makes no sense. I know you would never damage the Impala intentionally.”

Dean snorted.

“You’re not kidding about the getting references thing.”

“Of course not. Why would I?”

“Nevermind. Let’s get going. I want to get the lay of the town before we try to corner this guy.”

Dean let the radio play for the rest of the journey, humming along to any song he recognised. Even so, the silence was sharper than Cas had ever known it to be, like a shard of ice slipping into his chest.

* * *

 

Arriving in Waterville, Dean spent no time looking for a motel. Instead he found an abandoned building, far enough away from its neighbours that they could park the Impala without arousing suspicions. He settled into the vacant building with a familiarity that made Cas ache. This was not a suitable home for any human, not derelict as it was.

An hour later found them outside the local sheriff’s department.

“We’re here, why? I didn’t think angels visit local law enforcement.”

“They don’t. There are rumours that one of the deputies laid eyes on the archangel.”

“And he still has eyes?”

“I have told you before some people are capable of it. The man is probably related to one of the vessel bloodlines.”

“Yeah, yeah, angel-vision. Alright. It’s your mission. What’s the plan?”

Cas found he had no idea. Dean didn’t want him to access the thoughts of any humans without consent. How was he to navigate the complex structures of human interaction without their reactions as guidelines?

Honesty would sound mad, but perhaps it would work. Humans sometimes responded to bluntly stated facts, and many were religious. Jimmy Novak had been, which made the truth the best option. Maybe.

He frowned. Dean would know.

“We’ll tell the officer he witnessed an angel of the lord. It is the only explanation for the awe and terror he will be feeling, so he will trust us. The officer will then tell us where the angel is.”

Dean didn’t seem particularly impressed with his plan.

“Seriously?”

“You said reading his memories would be a violation of consent.”

“And you can’t think of anything better than walking in there and telling him the truth?”

“Why not? I thought humans placed a great value on honesty.”

“Not real honesty. Come on, you know how many people would run screaming if they ever found out about the supernatural?”

“That doesn’t make sense. Fake honesty an oxymoron.”

“Yeah, but it’s really human. Little white lies, you know. All that polite bullshit small-talk crap.”

“Like what?”

“You know what? We finish up here, I’ll fill you in. For now, just remember. When humans want something really, really bad, we lie.”

“Why?”

“Because that’s how you become president. Now, follow my lead.”

Dean turned to walk into the department, nearly strutting with false ease. Cas followed after him, watching as Dean found a contact, smoothly introducing them both. It seemed like the man believed them both to be agents.

He felt Dean’s eyes on him. Dean, who was displaying his FBI identification.

Oh.

Reaching into his coat, Cas withdrew the badge and ID Dean had given him earlier, presenting it to the officer.

Dean was still staring. Had Cas presented the badge wrong? Dean reached over, inverting the badge. Dropping his arm, Dean remained close.

“He’s new. Mind if we ask you a few questions?”

“Yes, sure. In here is good.” The officer said, leading the way to a nearby office.

Once they were settled within the room, Cas examined the ID. It was made up of a photocard at the top, with a metal badge underneath. He had no idea when Dean had managed to make it, or even get a photo to use. Perhaps he had taken one from Jimmy Novak’s driving license or some other legal document. Pocketing it, he looked up to focus on the officer, only to realise he had missed some of the conversation.

“What kind of disturbance?” Dean asked. Ah. So Dean had already managed to steer the conversation towards the sighting of Raphael. He was really rather accomplished at drawing information from people.

“Would not have believed it had I not seen it with my own eyes. Full-on riot. Thirty, forty people, in kill-or-be-killed combat.” The officer replied.

“Any idea what set them off?”

“It’s angels and demons, probably.” Cas added. “They’re skirmishing all over the globe.”

The officer was staring at him. His eyes had a wild look to them Cas couldn’t quite interpret. Did he believe Cas? Or was this a look of scepticism? Cas frowned back. This was much more difficult without reading his reactions psychically.

“Come again?”

“Demons.”

“Nothing!” Dean was speaking over him. Cas glanced to him, falling silent. Dean was better at reading the situation than he was. If he felt lies were the better option, Cas would follow.

The officer still looked unconvinced after Dean’s explanation, staring at them until Dean prompted him.

“A freaking explosion, that’s what happened next. They said it was an underground tank, but, uh, I don’t think so.”

“Why not?”

“Wasn’t your usual fireball. It was, uh—“

“It was pure white.” Castiel guessed.

“Yeah. Levelled the whole gas station. The rioters, they were all – it was horrible. And then in the middle, this one guy kneeling, not a scratch on him.”

“You know him?”

“Donnie Finneman. A mechanic from around here.”

“Let me guess, he vanishes into thin air.” Dean sighed heavily.

If anything, the officer seemed more confused at Dean’s statement than he had been when Cas mentioned demons.

“That happen a lot, Mulder? He’s down at St Pete’s.”

A lead. Raphael’s vessel was still here. He leaned over to get Dean’s attention.

“St Pete’s.”

Dean blinked, before thanking him. Cas hummed, standing to leave the station. Behind him, Dean was still talking, but after a few seconds Cas could sense his presence as the man followed.

They had a useable lead.

This was good.

Sitting in the car, Dean fiddled with his phone for a second, apparently examining a map. A second later they were moving.

“What was that back there, man? I thought we agreed no supernatural stuff.”

“I forgot.”

“You forgot.”

“Yes. I was distracted.”

“This is your case.”

“I know. I was just having a bit of difficulty keeping track of his speech. It won’t happen again.”

“How about next time, just leave the talking to me?”

“Okay.”

Next time came rather quickly, though he made sure to follow Dean’s lead more closely. The nurse led them quickly to the room housing Donnie Finneman. Raphael’s vessel was obviously incapacitated. The man was nothing more than a gibbering mess, mind torn to shreds by the archangel. It made Castiel sick to see. So easily, he could imagine Dean in the same place, left bloody and broken by an uncaring angel. This was what he had to prevent. It was too late here, but Dean still had a chance.

“I take it that’s not Raphael anymore.”

Dean seemed subdued. This was probably the first time he’d ever witnessed the damage an angel could cause their host. Jimmy Novak, while traumatised by the experience, had still been fully coherent. If Cas had left permanently, he would have recovered physically and mentally, although maybe not his faith in the Lord. Cas had been sure to be careful with him.

“Just an empty vessel.”

“So this is what I’m looking at if Michael jumps my bones?”

Cas glanced to him. Even without accessing Dean’s thoughts it wasn’t difficult to pick out the fear and pity in his gaze, the horror underlying it all. Perhaps he was just better at reading Dean’s emotions.

“No, not like this. Michael is far more powerful. It will be far worse for you.”

Dean didn’t answer, staring at the broken man.


	12. Chapter 12

Jerusalem was fairly arid, even with the scorching heat of summer long since faded. The ancient remnants of grace still clung to the stonework, familiar and soothing, far too old to be recognisable as belonging to any particular angel. Many humans inhabited the city, some as permanent residents and many drawn to pilgrimage by the holiness of the place. Even so, it was easy enough to avoid their notice at the late hour.

There were places here left untouched for centuries, buried by sand and dust and earth. It wasn’t long before he found what he was searching for in one such undisturbed room. Hidden behind many objects once held dear were several sealed clay jars.

Holy oil.

Myrrh. Sweet cinnamon. Kaneh bosem. Cassia. Olive oil.

Such a simple substance. Used correctly, it could bind even the most powerful of angels.

Dean was awake when he returned.

“Where’ve you been?” he asked in a rather aggressive tone. Cas frowned. He had only been gone for an hour or so, and Dean had been asleep when he left. Why was Dean upset?

“Jerusalem.”

“Oh, and how was it?”

“Arid. Why are you being snide?”

“I’m just asking reasonable questions.”

Cas didn’t reply, moving forwards to place the oil on the table. Dean followed closely, standing by his shoulder.

“What’s that?”

“Oil. Very special. Very rare.”

“You popped out to pick up a nice vinaigrette?”

“No.”

“Come on, what’s it for?”

Dean, it seemed, had been unaware of how close he had moved to Cas’s side. His breath caught when Cas turned to face him; he fidgeted in his place, though he didn’t step away. Of course he wouldn’t, even if it would make him more comfortable. He refused to show weakness, even something as simple as conceding space.

Cas nearly smiled. Sometimes Dean could be so very ridiculous, it was really quite endearing.

“Holy fire is one of the few things in existence that angels have to fear. Used correctly, it can even kill, although it is best used to augment barriers and warding.”

“You’re thinking we can trap Raphael.”

“Yes.”

“When?”

“Sunrise.”

“Isn’t that like trying to trap a hurricane in a butterfly net?”

“No. It’s harder.”

“We got any chance of surviving this?”

“You do.”

“So odds are you’re a dead man, come tomorrow.”

“Yes.”

Dean sighed heavily, glancing away. Cas took the opportunity to step back, settling into a chair by the table.

“Well. Last night on Earth. What are your plans?”

Cas had no plans. He had seen thousands – hundreds of thousands – of remarkable things and beautiful places. He had watched the birth of stars, the accretion of planets, the evolution of Earth life. What more was there? What did he crave to experience one last time?

He’d miss Dean. That was, if he was in an afterlife instead of simply destroyed, he would miss the potential to be near Dean. His humour. His joys. His radiant love and affection. Cas could happily spend the rest of Dean’s life simply observing the man interact with the world.

“I just thought I could sit here quietly.” Spending time with Dean, quite possibly his favourite person in all existence.

Dean didn’t seem to like his answer.

“Come on, if you could have anything? Booze? Women?”

Cas looked away to hide his smile. Dean could be so aggressively compassionate.

Apparently Dean misinterpreted his silence.

“You have been with a woman before, right? Or an angel, at least?”

In point of fact, Cas hadn’t. He felt a flush begin to spread across his cheeks. Odd.

“You mean you’re telling me you’ve never been up there doing a little cloud-seeding?”

 “I never had occasion.”

Why was Dean so obsessed with seeking sexual pleasure? More importantly, why was Cas feeling any level of embarrassment at admiting he had never had sex before? It wasn’t like sex was the same for beings composed entirely of energy and light, so even if he had it wouldn’t be in the same way Dean knew. The clumsy joining of sweaty flesh pushed onwards by a heady cocktail of hormones and nerve signals could not possibly compare to the intimacy of entangling threads of grace until their separate wavelengths began to merge and harmonise, fed by the shared joy and delight in each other’s company. Often, sharing such intimacy could even lead to shared memories, and in the case of particularly close lovers, nothing could be hidden from each other. Again, a far deeper connection than many humans would ever possibly encounter, limited as they were to physical vessels.

It wasn’t like angels had any need to procreate. New angels would simply come into existence sometimes at the will of their Father, although the last new angel had appeared centuries ago. Sex served mainly as a source of pleasure and intimacy, or in the case of Balthazar, as an alternative to small talk.

Castiel had never felt any urge to take part. Many angels did not. It was not unusual. Still, he glanced away.

Perhaps he’d been a little curious, for a while now. Only a few dozen million years, barely a blink before the lifespan of an angel. The difficult part was finding a partner. Castiel already knew the ten thousand other angels who frequented the Earth and surrounding solar system, many of them other warriors, and wasn’t particularly inspired to take any of them as a lover. It wasn’t like new angels came by all that often.

The thought of having sex with another ethereal species like a reaper or a sidhe wasn’t particularly appealing, though he knew such connections were not uncommon among his brethren.

The idea of having sex with a human was…odd. It wasn’t outright forbidden, as long as no Nephilim were produced, but it did require a vessel to be even remotely feasible. Exposing a soul to the energy that was pure grace, an angel unbound by mortal flesh, it could be greatly damaging. Even Dean’s soul still bore the scar of their last contact, hidden by the mark on his shoulder. Actual sex could do much more damage.

Although, perhaps it would be equalled by the native healing abilities of an angel? Especially considering they would be so tightly bound. Cas wasn’t sure. He knew of no angels at all who had truly bonded with a human, or even attempted to merge soul to grace.

Either way, he had never before considered humans as potential sexual partners. He wasn’t even considering them as sexual partners now. They were all…fleshy, and physical.

Which made him wonder how Dean had convinced him to enter the brothel, anyway.

Castiel sat, hyperaware of every lustful human within the place. Dean looked obscenely comfortable in the low light.

Dean had found a prostitute. Dean was directing her to Castiel. Ah. Um. Hmm. What was the correct protocol to reject a prostitute?

Castiel drained half of his drink, staring at Dean for help. Dean only grinned, leaning forwards to whisper advice and offer a small wad of money.

The girl grabbed his sleeve, dragging him back into the halls leading off the main room. Several bedrooms led off the hall. The room they stopped in had a bed dressed in faux leather, a small set of drawers, and several other decorations that Castiel assumed were designed to increase libido. Smirking, the girl stepped into Castiel’s space, smoothing her hands over his chest. Castiel resisted the urge to step away.

“You nervous, baby? Don’t worry. I’ll make you feel so good.”

Perhaps Cas was nervous. That was an adequate explanation for the microsecond he let his mind wander through her memories, searching for something – anything – that would end this confrontation quickly. Her touch was making his skin crawl.

At his words, she began to scream in anger, thankfully pushing Cas away and out into the hallway. He watched in bemusement as she threw various skimpy items of clothing at him in her fit of rage. Dean was there seconds later, grabbing his shoulder to lead them outside.

“What was that about?”

“I don’t know. I was simply trying to assure her that her father leaving was not her fault. He just didn’t like his job at the post office.”

Dean burst into laughter.

“Dude! These places practically run on daddy issues!”

At the end of the hall, two of the guards were beginning to take an interest in them, moving forwards through the throng of girls. Dean noticed, despite his laughter, grabbing Cas’s hand and dragging him down the hall towards a handily labelled exit. The alleyway was much quieter, away from any main roads or the loud music of the den of iniquity. The polluted city air seemed nearly fresh compared to the stale scent from inside.

Apparently safe from the attention of the bouncers, Dean suddenly doubled over, shaking with laughter. Cas blinked, unsure what exactly Dean found so funny. Still, he found his lips pulling up, nearly mesmerised by Dean’s obvious amusement. The stresses of hunting and the apocalypse stripped away, leaving Dean entirely caught up in the joy of the moment.

It was several minutes before Dean calmed enough to speak. Every time he seemed close, he would catch Cas’s eye and begin sniggering again.

* * *

 

They had no success in their mission during the day.

Dean wasn’t particularly worried.

“See, this is why we have that set-up back at our base. Raphael’s smarter than just walking into some trap. We gotta get him thinkin’ he’s in control. That’s when we strike.”

“You are a good strategist, Dean, but I cannot see him falling for this.”

“First off, I’m an excellent strategist. Second, from what you’ve said this Raphael guy is one of the big shots, second in command, right? Practically the leader of the ‘humans are mud monkeys’ squad. There is no way he believes a human could outsmart him. That’s how we get him.”

“If you’re wrong, then we could be driving to our doom.”

“Yeah, but that’s what last night was for, right?”

Castiel smiled, catching Dean’s eye.

“I suppose so, yes.”

Of course, returning to the abandoned house, Raphael attacked almost immediately, quickly ending up trapped within the tangle of spellwork built up around the holy oil ring. Castiel could see Dean preening from the corner of his eye.

Outside, the storm continued to rage, drawn by Raphael’s power. The archangel flexed his wings just shy of the bounds of the circle of flames, glaring at Dean.

“Don’t look at me. It was his idea.”  Dean smirked, crooking a finger at Cas. Cas narrowed his eyes at the man, who simply shrugged, unapologetic.

Turning back to Raphael, he allowed his wings to spread in a full display. Raphael only raised one eyebrow in response.

“Where is he?”

“God is dead, Castiel,” Raphael sneered in quite possibly the most sanctimonious way Cas had ever heard – a feat considering he had associated almost exclusively with angels during his multi-billion year existence. “Dead. There’s no other explanation. He’s gone for good.”

“You’re lying.”

“Am I? Do you remember the twentieth century? Do you think this one will get any better? Do you think God would have allowed any of that to happen to these mud monkeys – his favourites – if he were still alive?”

He wanted to argue. He did. But Raphael’s words rang with an ugly truth he found it hard to combat. There was allowing free will, and then there was allowing nuclear war. Most angels didn’t interact even indirectly with humans, Cas included until very recently. He’d been happy to follow Heaven’s directions, assuming all along that they must come from his Father, while humanity developed ever more efficient methods of torturing each other.

Dean was speaking.

“-invented the Chinese basket trick?”

The what? Cas’s eyes flicked between Dean and Raphael, unwilling to draw the meaning of the phrase from Dean’s mind. Judging by Raphael’s disgusted reaction it seemed like some sort of sexual activity.

“Watch your words. That’s my Father you’re talking about, boy.”

“Yeah, he’d be so proud to know his sons started the apocalypse behind his back.”

“Who ran off and disappeared? Who left no instructions and a universe to run?”

“Daddy ran away and disappeared. He didn’t happen to work for a post office, did he?”

Dean was grinning, glancing at Cas from the corner of his eye, as if Cas would understand and share his joke. What in the world was – the prostitute from the brothel. Daddy issues? Dean was comparing Raphael to her?

“You dare compare me to some puissant human whore!”

“You got a problem with that, Sparkles?”

“You remember Zachariah’s punishments for you? Well, I’ll get creative.”

“Is that meant to be threatening? Sorry, Zapdos, but I’ve heard better from run-of-the-mill vamps.”

“You think this is funny? We’re living in a Godless universe.”

“So you and the other kids just decide to throw an apocalypse while he’s gone?”

“We’re tired. It was a long and painful experiment, but now we want it to be over. We want Paradise.”

“You think you can do whatever you want? Declare yourself the new boss, and just screw us all over?”

“Yes, actually. Whatever we want, we get.”

Thinking about it, there was one argument against Raphael’s assertions.

“If God has died, then who brought me back?”

Raphael snorted, eyes raking over Castiel’s form.

“You think God would have put you back together broken?” So Raphael could see past his illusion. “Why leave your wing missing, your grace fractured? If he did bring you back he did a careless job.”

“Cas, what is he talking about?”

“Not now, Dean.”

“Did it ever occur to you that maybe Lucifer raised you?”

“No.”

“Think about it. He needs all the rebellious angels he can get.”

“Are you implying that Lucifer has a power even Michael does not? If archangels could raise lower angels, why not do it before? Why did you not raise Ariel?”

Ariel, one of their fiercest star-blade smiths, and beloved of Raphael. Dead since long before the evolution of mankind. Slaughtered by the things from the dark.

Raphael’s countenance shifted into a snarl, and the angel nearly lunged through the barrier, hands contorted into claws. His wings crackled, manifested as arcs of electrical energy, as the storm above grew fiercer.

“You dare speak that name!”

“You know well that no angel can raise another, even ones as powerful as you and Michael. We both know no one besides our Father could possibly raise me. He’s paying attention. And He doesn’t seem to like your team right now.”

Raphael began to fold inwards, his anger concealed beneath a façade of congeniality.

“You have convinced me, brother. Free me and I will work to save your humans.”

Cas didn’t answer, simply studying the other angel. Raphael, the Healer. Grief and anger had long since twisted him from his true purpose, leaving nothing but a vicious pleasure in inflicting harm. Cas still remembered in vivid detail the seconds right before his death, the way Raphael revelled in his pain.

“Let’s go.”

Turning away from the angel, he felt Dean’s presence by his side, a silent support.

“Castiel. Castiel, I’m warning you! Do not leave me here. I will find you!”

Pausing in the doorway, Cas turned back to face him. The contrast between the imprisoned yet radiant glory of Raphael and the decaying scraps of human habitation around him was a particularly pleasing image.

“Maybe one day. But tonight, you’re my little bitch.”

Dean’s delight at his words was nearly a physical thing.

They didn’t speak as they made their way to the Impala, packed in advance with all the necessities they didn’t want to salvage from the house filled with angry angel. Quickly they set off, driving without direction in an effort to lose any of Raphael’s awareness before he broke free.

It was nearly an hour before Dean spoke.

“You okay?”

Cas wasn’t sure he felt like talking. Despite the erroneous nature of Raphael’s assumptions, he did raise some good points – mainly, that God was aware of what was happening and chose not to act. It wouldn’t be the first time. God had allowed the angels to learn of death in a truly horrific manner. God had chosen not to intervene when it seemed humans were heading towards global war. God did not intervene when it happened a second time, or when humans developed a new weapon that would allow them to destroy each other on a phenomenally massive scale.

What proof was there that God cared at all? Perhaps he’d brought Cas back on a whim. Maybe it was just so he could watch the story play out.

“Cas? You with me?”

“Yes, Dean.”

“Look. I’ll be the first to tell you this crusade of yours is nuts, but I do know something about missing fathers.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, there were times when I was looking for my father, and all logic said he was dead. But in my heart I knew he was alive. Who cares what ninja turtle says? What do you believe?”

“I believe he is out there.”

“Good! And you’ll find him.”

“I suppose. If he wants me to find him, then I will.”

“Yeah, faith ’n’ stuff, right?”

“That is what it’s called, yes.”

Silence fell between them for a few miles, before Dean spoke again.

“What did he mean about your wing?”

Another thing Cas didn’t really want to discuss. Dean must have a talent for picking them out.

“It’s nothing.”

“The hell it is! You fight to the death with Sparkles, and he says the damage is still there, and it’s nothing?”

“It isn’t your problem.”

“No, it’s yours. That matters to me!”

Silence.

“If you have one wing missing, how the hell are you flying around anyway?”

Cas huffed, turning to watch the man as he drove.

“I have three pairs of wings, Dean. Only one is missing, so flight is still perfectly possible.”

“But, in the barn—“

“I admit, I did perhaps only reveal one pair in order to cast a sharper silhouette.”

Dean didn’t answer immediately, but when he did, Cas could nearly hear his grin. He hunched his shoulders, staring at his hands resting in his lap.

“You wanted to show off for me!”

“That isn’t exactly how I’d phrase it.”

“All that rattling, like a storm going overhead, and you slam the doors open, sparks flying – can’t believe I didn’t see it sooner.”

“You greeted me with shotguns.”

“O’course we did! You’re some super powerful eldritch horror thing shaking the earth as you land and sending demons screaming into the distance. You think we weren’t gonna fight?”

“I had hoped you would recognise me, or perhaps hear my voice.”

Dean snorted, grinning forwards as he gazed out at the highway. It wasn’t long before his humour seemed to fade.

“Seriously, man. You okay, grace-wise?”

“I am doing fine. Some of my abilities are much weaker than they were before, that’s all. Healing. Magical strength. That sort of thing.”

“Magic?”

“Yes.”

“You use magic? Like Harry Potter or like witches?”

“I suppose the closest analogy is witchcraft, but angel magic is its own class. Very old. Very powerful. Angels were using magic to help young stars grow long before the Earth had even formed. Humans actually adapted a bastardised enochian script for their own spellworking.”

“Awesome! You any good?”

Cas glanced to him, finding Dean’s eyes bright with interest.

“I am an excellent spell-weaver, Dean.”

“What sort of magic do you do?”

“Ward-crafting, mostly, but I also excel at illusion-work and battle hexes. And there are some spells I have crafted for purely frivolous reasons.”

“Like what?”

Cas shrugged.

“Just silly little things, to entertain or to look appealing.”

“It sucks that you’re losing it, though.”

“Yes. It does.”

For a few miles, there was nothing between them but the sound of breathing. He missed the noise of Dean’s thoughts, although the sight and touch of his soul did help to make up for the absence. He supposed it was just something he would have to get used to.

“What about you?”

“What about me? I don’t know. Honestly, I’m good. Can’t believe I can even say that, but I am. I’m really good.”

“Even without your brother?”

“Especially without Sam. I love him, don’t get me wrong, but I’ve spent so long worrying about that son of a bitch. I’ve had more fun with you in the past day than I’ve had around him for years. I don’t know. I mean, I’m alone. Unchained from my family. And I’m happy.”

Cas said nothing. Dean’s soul was shifting in a way that Cas thought meant he didn’t agree with his own words. The worry was still there, behind Dean’s carefree façade. He did appear happy, but there was almost an aftertaste of guilt to it. Somehow, Cas knew he wouldn’t appreciate having those qualities brought forwards.

“I’ll check in in a few days.”

Dean jolted in his spot.

“Wait! Wait a second. I nearly forgot.”

Cas watched, curious, as Dean pulled over, leaning across to open the compartment in the front of the dashboard. Rooting around, he extracted a phone, placing it in Cas’s hand.

“What’s this for?”

Dean grinned.

“I figure, you need to find me? Just give me a call, I’ll tell you where I am. No need to bother Bobby.”

Cas blinked, fiddling with the phone. It appeared to be made out of two sections, arranged so that a flipping motion would open it up. A simple number pad lit up from within, as the screen activated.

“I got you a simple one. It’s just a burner phone, really, but I figure it’s a good one to learn with. My numbers are already programmed in.”

“Thank you, Dean. This is very thoughtful.”

“Hey, no problem! Oh, I also have a charger in here. Not sure where you’ll find a plug socket, but if it gets low on charge you’ll need one.”

“I imagine I could use my grace to keep it powered.”

“You can do that?”

“Yes. It is simply electrical energy.”

“Awesome.”


	13. Chapter 13

Gaining a human vessel had drastically reduced Castiel’s capacity for patience. As an angel, Castiel’s perspective of time was already altered compared to most humans. Being older than the planet and able to sense the interaction between matter and spacetime would do that. Waiting was different. Waiting was quickly growing to be unbearable. Of course he understood that Dean was limited by his biology, but surely it wouldn’t hurt for Castiel to remove Dean’s exhaustion every now and then?

Anyone watching the angel would have no idea of his impatience. He didn’t react outwardly. He didn’t fidget, or hum, or find any other way to entertain himself.

Four hours. It was only four hours. Castiel had waited for months before without moving, with barely a thought, until it was time to act.

There was a bird in a nearby tree, chattering despite the late hour. A different bird had decided to roost in the same tree, and the first one was getting very territorial. The sound was nice even knowing it was actually a display of aggression.

After an hour of the same repetitive twittering, Castiel was growing very sick of birdsong. Was this why humans had developed so many hobbies? Waiting was so boring. Really, there was nothing at all to do until Dean was conscious once more. The rumours of the Colt were their best lead yet, and one of the few possibilities to actually harm Lucifer. He had exhausted all the other leads they had discussed, and had been quite ready to seek the Colt when Dean asked for the time to sleep. Of course, he could always return to wandering the Earth in the meantime, watching the amulet in case God was nearby, but the chances of coming across his Father by chance were phenomenally small. God may not even be on Earth. Humans really had no concept of how large the universe was. Even to angels, it was big enough that travel to other galaxies could take years.

Castiel hadn’t travelled beyond the Milky Way nearly since the creation of the Earth. He, and many other thousands of angels chose to be stationed on Earth, after God decided to spend so much time developing Life on the planet. Earth was just so successful, a planet rampant with Life. So many species developed over so short a time, it was amazing.

There was still two hours left.

Castiel sighed.

Dean. He was an interesting human. An excellent example of the best of mankind, despite all of the insecurities and fears and rages that plagued his mind. He had such a strong sense of empathy, willing to sacrifice himself repeatedly for strangers that would never know any better. Some of them even vilified him for his actions, or struck out against him, and still Dean fought for their benefit. Castiel was glad to count him as a friend.

Why was time so slow?

With only ten minutes left until he could acceptably contact Dean again, Cas was suddenly overcome with an intense feeling of wrongness. Silence, awful silence, echoing across his grace.

Dean. Something had happened to Dean. The trailing awareness from the soulscar that bound them, until now a quiet hum unnoticed at the back of his mind, was now a horrific emptiness.

No.

Cas landed within Dean’s hotel room.

Gone.

No. No, he could not be gone.

There was no trail to follow. No way to find him.

Traces of grace still lingered around the room. An angel had found him, despite the warding on his ribs.

Zachariah.

Cas would be greatly satisfied on the day he slaughtered that egotistical, sycophantic, sanctimonious bastard-spawn of Lucifer!

Cas had failed him.

Dean was at the mercy of Heaven, and it was Cas’s fault.

A low whistling caught his attention. The sound of clumsy cherub wings.

Zachariah dared to return?

Shifting to the corner of the room, he drew shadows and harmonies close to conceal himself. A surprise attack would be the most deadly.

The angel stepped into the room like he owned it. Stretched lazily, comfortable in the knowledge nothing could possibly harm an angel of his calibre.

Deep within, the rage was beginning to soak through Cas’s very core, like blood corrupting white linen. Outwardly, it didn’t show beyond the icy façade enveloping him in the cold focus of a hunter. He was a hunter. He would hunt down all of Heaven, every angel, until Dean was safe once more. Cas had failed him enough.

In the moment before Cas struck, Zachariah flexed, folding the fabric of space-time closer and tighter until it frayed.

Cas paused, watching.

Green. There was green. Green and gold and bright vibrant reds. Warm. So warm. Familiar – he knew this! Knew him! That same, perfect, beloved harmony! Chimes and bells and humming, pressing against his grace. Calling across the distance. This wasn’t a trick? Couldn’t possibly be. Grace-fuelled senses were very hard to fool, Cas would know.

Dean.

Dean was alive. Dean was intact, shaken but still so brazen, growling at Zachariah as the angel tried to extort him.

Cas shivered, breathing out heavily.

Dean was fine.

Everything was fine.

The moment Zachariah threatened Dean, Cas sprang forwards, flying them from the room in less than a second to land on the same stretch of road he’d been waiting on only – was it really only twenty minutes ago?

Dean was visibly calmer, turning to share a grin with Cas.

“Pretty nice timing, Cas.”

Cas smiled, feeling nearly weak from relief. Things had almost gone so very wrong, so very quickly. If he had lacked a connection to Dean, the man could have been long gone before he even noticed anything wrong. Unable to track him without phone co-ordinates. Unable to seek him across time. Unable to protect him from the tortures inflicted by Heaven.

But it was fine. He had sensed the wrongness. He had saved Dean in time.

“We had an appointment.”

Dean stepped closer, placing one hand on his shoulder as if to fortify him.

“Don’t ever change, Cas.”

“How did Zachariah find you?”

At his question, Dean grew serious, dropping their contact though he remained close.

“Long story. Let’s just stay away from Jehovah’s Witnesses from now on, okay?”

“Very well.”

“Now,” Dean began to fiddle with his jacket, groaning as he apparently failed to find what he was looking for. “Come on, don’t tell me it’s back there!”

“What are you looking for?”

“My phone. It must be back in the room with ol’ Zach.”

“You can use mine, if you want.”

Dean grinned at his offer, bright and green and melodious. Cas had nearly lost this, lost him, over a simple mistake.

“Awesome! I’ll make sure to give you some more minutes.”

“Who do you need to call?”

“Sam. I should have done this in the first place.”

His conversation didn’t last very long. Dean was pacing a few steps away in some semblance of privacy. Cas pretended he could not hear every word. Only a few minutes later he returned, offering the phone back.

“How long do you reckon before Zach’ll move on, and we can go pick up my stuff?”

“It is likely he will have some lower angel stand guard and wait. Possibly for days.”

“Damn, really? How the hell do we get my Baby back?”

Cas thought for a moment, before nodding.

“The angel banishing sigil. If we approach with it freshly painted on a surface of some kind, you could activate it and use the opportunity to collect everything.”

“Sounds like a plan! Won’t that send you flying too, though?”

“If we prepare it, I can get us both there and escape the second before you activate it. Send a prayer to me as soon as the effects wear off, and I will return to help.”

“Great! Then after we can go for burgers. Where he sent me – bad grub isn’t even the start of it.”

“That sounds acceptable.” Maybe then, Cas would finally calm down and recognise Dean was fine. “Ready?”

“Ready.”

* * *

 

Dean was tangibly happier to be in the company of his brother. As much as he spoke of the worry and frustration of being near Sam, it was a result of the depth of his care and love for his brother. Having Sam near, where he could guard him and monitor his state of being, it did quite a lot to soothe Dean’s worries as much as it caused them.

Cas was glad for him.

He ignored – for the most part – the sense of loss he felt that they were no longer working so closely. With Sam by his side, Dean called for assistance with less frequency, sometimes going many days without contact. Neither Sam nor Bobby called, and Cas was loathe to bother them without obtaining at least another lead in his mission or theirs. He was sure Dean kept them updated with his lack of progress.

Of course, he could visit Dean anyway. It used to be that Dean’s company, the visceral knowledge of Dean’s wellbeing, was enough to calm him whenever the war with Hell grew too vicious or exhausting. Likely, even now, he would find it restful.

The phantom memory of his anger, the cold ruthlessness that had swept over him at the thought of Dean’s capture by Heaven gave him pause. The extremity of his reaction, how quickly he had slipped into it, it was frightening. Heaven wasn’t Hell. He had no natural antagonism for angelkind, as he did for demons, yet he had accepted completely that he would fight against his own kind to save his friend. He would murder members of his own family to save Dean from their machinations.

Already had, in fact. Wasn’t it only a few weeks ago that he had slain two angels, simply because they threatened the brothers? He hadn’t thought of them since, accepting them as inevitable casualties of war.

It wasn’t acceptable. There had been other ways, slaughtering two angels so inferior to him in skill was unjust. He could have overpowered them. Trapped them. Even low on magical strength, he knew ways to do both, but he hadn’t even considered it as an option, bent instead on intimidating Zachariah with murder.

He was not like them. He was not like Uriel, or Zachariah, or Raphael. He did not take pleasure in the act of injuring, of killing another.

Yet, so easily he had considered torturing Zachariah for information. So easily, he had accepted it as the price for finding Dean, nearly revelling at the chance to punish those who thought they had the right to steal him.

What was happening to him? What was wrong with him that he could lose compassion so quickly and sink into sadism? Frustrating or not, his enemies or not, the angels were still his family. And he would hunt them, murder them, for the sake of one man.

The worst of it was, while that should be the part he found terrifying, it wasn’t.

No. What terrified him was the possibility of harming Dean.

What if one day he turned on Dean in the same manner? Was he so untrustworthy, so unreliable, that he would attack those he considered family for the sake of a new cause? Would there be a day when he would stand opposed to Dean and cut him down?

The thought made him feel sick.

No, Cas could not trust himself entirely, at least until he understood better what had driven his reactions. A dramatic response to a perceived threat to the last hope he had was perhaps excusable. Becoming a siblicidal avenger was not.

* * *

 

Reunited with his brother, Dean didn’t notice at first that Cas was avoiding spending any time physically in his presence. He kept in regular contact, calling to update the brothers on his lack of progress. Dean and Sam chose to spend their time pursuing minor hunts, since there was no lead regarding the location of the Colt. Monsters were always active, more so now with demons encroaching on their territories.

Cas missed him a great deal. Longing had begun to form as an ache centred behind his sternum, spreading like a poison across his vessel. Talking over the phone was not the same, and did nothing to ease the silence of being disconnected from Heaven. Wherever he walked on his search, no matter how large the crowd that surrounded him, there was always the silence.

Meditating helped. Sometimes he could hear the voices of other angels, announcing battle manoeuvres or updates on various missions. It wasn’t the same as true company, but it gave him some measure of comfort and occasionally even useful information. Nearly a month after the last time he had visited Dean, Cas began to hear rumours across Heaven. Some demon had managed to birth a cambion, one that had gone unnoticed long enough to grow into its powers. Fortunately, it seemed that the demons had no further clue as to where to find the cambion than Heaven did.

Cas was torn. The cambion represented the single largest threat against heaven and humanity after Lucifer, but it was certainly powerful enough that Cas would stand very little chance against it in combat. It was also nearly impossible to find, wrapped up in cloaking illusions and protections while it matured.

So of course Fate dictated that the brothers Winchester would be the ones to find it.

Cas flew to them as soon as he received their message. Even still distrusting his reactions around Dean, the cambion presented too large a threat to ignore.

“It’s lucky you found the boy.”

Dean brightened at his presence. Sam appeared merely exasperated. Cas itched to scan their thoughts and discover exactly what had been going on. Neither brother had ever proven to be the most forthcoming, even when sharing information would prove their advantage. Instead, Dean’s words echoed across his mind, warning against viewing memories without consent.

Cas relented.

“Oh, yeah, we’re real lucky.” Dean replied. “What do we do now?”

“Kill him.”

It appeared that neither brother had been expecting his response. Sam in particular seemed horrified.

“Cas-”

“This child is half demon and half human, but it’s far more powerful than either. Some call this creature a cambion or a katako. Within the scriptures it is referred to as the antichrist.”

The brothers still did not appear to recognise the danger of letting the child live. Cas sighed, moving to sit across from them at the table.

There was a noise. Loud, long, somewhat gastrointestinal. Dean was grinning, while Sam appeared frustrated.

“That wasn’t me.”

Reaching beneath the chair cushion, he retrieved a flattened rubber balloon? The rubber was thick, dark pink, and cut into two near-circular pieces glued together to make a cushion of sorts. Presumably, this was the device that had made the noise.

“Who put that there?” Dean smirked. Sam was actually hiding his face now.

Cas didn’t understand. Was this some sort of joke? Dean seemed happy, so he supposed he didn’t mind. Dean deserved more joy in his life.

“Anyway,” Sam began. “I don’t get it. How could Jesse be the devil’s son?”

“He isn’t. The Bible gets more wrong than it gets right, really. A combination of the interpretation of the prophets who write it and the many translations since that original text. The antichrist is not the son of Lucifer. It’s just demon spawn. However, they are one of the devil’s greatest weapons in the war against Heaven.”

“What the hell is he doing here, then?” Dean cut in.

“The demons lost him, years ago. They will be searching now that his powers have begun to manifest.”

“Why can’t they find him?”

“Because of the child’s power. Not even Heaven can locate him. For now, at least. It won’t be long before the strange occurrences here attract attention.”

“So, he’s got some sort of force field around him. That’s great.”

“That’s not all. With Lucifer risen, his powers will be growing stronger. Soon enough, he will be able to do more than simply make some toys come to life. When the demons find him, when they drag him before Lucifer, his purpose and mind will be twisted to follow Lucifer’s whim. With a word, this child will destroy the Host of Heaven.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa! You’re saying Jesse’s going to nuke the angels?”

“We cannot allow it to happen.”

Dean seemed to be in agreement, any lasting amusement over his joke from earlier since evaporated.

“Wait.”

Sam, apparently, was not in agreement.

“We’re the good guys. We don’t – we don’t just – kill children.”

“A year ago, you would have done whatever it took to win this war.”

“Things change.”

Dean stepped forwards, placing himself between them. As usual he was uncomfortable with conflict between his allies. Cas frowned, examining the man more closely. There was something – hard to pick out, the angle of his eyebrows? Human expressions were difficult to read without mental context – that gave the impression that Cas had lost this argument. It stung somewhat, but it was to be expected. Dean would near always side with his brother during conflict.

Cas prepared to fly.

“Okay. Hey, look, we are not gonna kill him.” Knew it. “Alright? But we can’t leave Jesse here either. We know that. So, we take him to Bobby’s. He’ll know what to do.”

“You’ll kidnap him? You understand, what has been going on around this town, that’s when this thing is happy. You cannot imagine what it will do if it is angry, or frightened. Besides, how would you hold it? With a thought, it could be halfway across the world.”

“So we—“

“We’ll tell him the truth.” Sam interrupted. “You say Jesse’s destined to go dark. But he hasn’t yet. If we lay it all out – the apocalypse, what he is, everything – he might make the right choice.”

Cas didn’t answer, staring at the taller man. Sam nearly seemed to implore Cas to trust him. Why did neither of them understand? Might? Not yet? It would only take a single mistake, a single rage-fuelled episode, for the boy to cause irreparable damage. And since when had awareness of the situation prevented Hell from twisting the good into following?

“This child is not your chance to redeem yourself, Sam. I cannot take that risk.”

A second later, he was in the cambion’s house.

The child noticed him appear, dropping a glass to smash to the floor.

Cas paused.

The boy possessed a soul, even now fluttering in fear. The power was there, yes, swirling around him faster and higher, growing stronger with every moment. But still, a soul.

Cas had to kill him. There was no other option that made sense.

Behind his back, the demon-slaying knife he had stolen from the brothers was nearly burning in his hand.

“Don’t be afraid. I won’t hurt you.”

Death didn’t have to be painful. The boy could hear the gaps in his words, eyes wide and nearly frantic.

“Mom! Dad!”

“I assure you, they are both well asleep. Neither will wake before dawn.” With a thought and a whispered spell, he made it true. It didn’t matter anyway. This murder – there was no lying to himself, this was murder, necessary or not – would only take a few seconds.

“I’m sorry.”

The boy was cowering as he lunged forwards.

* * *

 

Perception as a toy was hazy. There was no true awareness of time or relative position, although he was still able to recognise Dean’s presence.

There was a demon? Was there?

The sky above seemed clear as he stared out from the edge of a high cliff. The roof of a skyscraper. The top of a mountain. The edge of an abyss.

No. The edge of a shelf. Dean and Sam were in the room, with the child. The demon.

Cas liked to watch the sky. Painted brightly with the colours of sunlight. The beach. Trees whispering quietly.

Quite suddenly, he jolted back to existence.

The demon was gone. The boy was long gone. The brothers were both fine.

Cas shivered, stretching out his five wings, rolling his shoulders.

“He’s gone.”

“Cas!”

“Where?”

Cas blinked, glancing between the brothers.

“I have no idea. What happened?”

“You don’t know?”

“I – I think I was a toy? – during the entirety of your confrontation. Did the boy follow the demon?”

“No,” Dean snorted. “He sent that bastard packing, straight back to hell.”

“So he is abandoning Hell.”

“Yeah. Nearly had him agreeing to live with Bobby, actually. Y’know, so he can learn the ropes of hunting.”

“You would train him as a hunter?”

“If he can nuke all angels, he can probably seriously harm the monster population. And it would be a good way to channel his talents to. Like the X-men.”

“What are the X-men?”

Sam, by the bed, called out to interrupt.

“Hey, check this out. He left a note.”

Cas leaned forwards, skimming over it. Apparently the boy had chosen to protect his family, rather than choose either side to serve. He supposed that was a suitable solution, and one that did not require the murder of a human soul.

“How do we find him?

“With the boy’s powers, we can’t. There is no way to find him.”

Cas chose that moment to leave. He was feeling distinctly unsettled.

Overall, the hunt had been unsuccessful, though once more the Winchesters had shown that compassion was more effective than violence. The boy had very nearly allied himself with humanity, which would have been a devastating blow to Hell’s forces.

Cas had been behaving as an angel should. Merciless. Aggressive. Uncompromising. Dean had shown him there were different ways, and at the first obstacle, he abandoned Dean’s advice. He had nearly murdered an innocent.

He was better than this. He could be better than this.


	14. Chapter 14

Cas couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment he realised something was wrong with the brothers. An unease had been building in the back of his mind, creeping forwards like a burr caught in his feathers. He realised he was flicking them in irritation as if to shift it.

When neither brother would answer their phones, any of their phones, for over twenty hours, Cas knew something was wrong.

Beginning at their last known whereabouts, Cas began to search the surrounding area. It proved to be a futile task. With the Impala, there was no telling how far they could travel in a single day.

How did they find new cases again? Magazines and newspapers and things. Information on the computer. Talking to people.

…maybe it would be easier to track unusual deaths.

There was a whole variety of summoning spells, far more than even most witches knew of. By altering the words, or ingredients – even the tone of voice – the summoned being would be subjected to anything from a polite request for assistance to the equivalent of ball-gagging and binding them. Cas didn’t see any reason to begin contact in such an aggressive manner.

Tessa didn’t respond immediately. As a reaper, she was likely very busy. It didn’t do anything to curb his impatientce. The brothers had been out of contact for roughly a day and a half now.

Eventually, though, she did appear. The reaper was no longer wrapped in the image she had chosen to present to Dean. Floating, she was like mist, wisps of silence and muted light. It appeared she was currently without a soul to ferry, though drifting within her form, protective shadows were ready to form harsh spines and blades.

“Tessa.”

“Castiel. This is unexpected, though not necessarily unwelcome.”

“I’m glad you are well.”

“Thank you. You, however, appear to be injured.”

Did his illusions work on anyone anymore?

“It is not of import.”

“You acted against Heaven.”

“Will that be a problem?”

Tessa was silent for a second, impassive.

“No. Death knows no bias or preference.”

“Does Death offer knowledge about recent deaths?”

“Perhaps.”

“I am searching for any deaths that occurred by supernatural means over the past few weeks, within 500km of this area.”

Tessa appeared to be surprised.

“That is an interestingly specific request.”

“I have a very specific need.”

“You’re seeking the Winchesters, aren’t you.”

Cas didn’t answer. She didn’t appear to mind.

“I have decided. I will assist you.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, though I think it is unlikely to be much help to you.”

She appeared to flicker for a second, as if caught in a strong wind.

“Penn is the head reaper for this area. He noted nearly forty deaths related to the supernatural in this area.”

“Tell me.”

In her true form, she had no face or any way to make an expression. Yet still she seemed confused.

“Why do you not retrieve the knowledge from my mind?”

Oh.

“I apologise. I have been spending too long around humans.”

After a few seconds, it was done. Tessa shifted, apparently growing impatient.

“If that’s all, angel.”

“Yes. Thank you.”

She faded from sight.

Forty possible locations. This would be much easier now.

* * *

 

Gabriel.

Of all the possible creatures to hold the brothers captive, it was the archangel Gabriel.

The brothers, while battered and frustrated, had appeared to be in good health when last he saw them. Gabriel had trapped them within layers and layers of illusionary worlds. Really it was very impressive.

Bound, wings pinned close, powers suppressed, all Cas could do was wait. After a few minutes, the archangel appeared.

“So. Castiel. Last I heard you were just a lowly flight leader, now look at you! All grown up and betraying Heaven.”

“Release the Winchesters.”

“What, no hello? I’m hurt! I thought we were bros.”

“We have never met.”

“We do have roughly 100,000 siblings, it’s not that surprising, Castiel.”

“Cas.”

“What was that?”

“My name is Cas.”

“Shield? You’re calling yourself shield? Why drop the connection to God?”

“I am no longer his servant.”

“Do you think I am? Come on, Cassie, I’m being serious now, one rebel angel to another. You can’t just slice a piece of yourself off and pretend it doesn’t exist. Folks like us, names have power. You don’t wanna mess with that.”

Cas glared, silent. He hadn’t made this decision lightly, as Gabriel seemed to think. From the first moment, he had felt the difference. He had felt his celestial tether snap, disconnected from Heaven.

Perhaps he had a point. Cas or Castiel? Reassuming his full name didn’t mean he was giving up the nickname. Maybe – maybe he could – what was the right course? Things had been so much easier when he had simply been following the Will of Heaven. At least then any responsibility was shared with the rest of the Host. Free will was so difficult.

“Don’t strain yourself. It’s not that complicated.”

“This is irrelevant.”

“Yeah, you’re right, this is boring. What’s real interesting is what you think you’re hiding under this rather lovely glamour. It’s good work. Really.” With a shake of one hand, Castiel felt his illusions stripped away, revealing his true form as it was to the more powerful angel. Seriously, why did he even bother anymore? The only one illusion-work had had any effect on was Zachariah, and he was an idiot.

Gabriel hissed, eyes trailing over him. Cas glowered back.

“You’re not looking too hot, little bro. Missing wing, open wounds, how are you still flying?”

“With difficulty.”

“You don’t say? Seriously, though, why aren’t you healing?”

Cas didn’t answer, his eyes narrowing further, wings bristling within their bindings.

“Hey, calm down. It’s just a simple question. C’mon! Share with group! I might even ease up a little on our valiant protagonists.”

“I don’t know. All of my healing abilities have been diminished.”

“You didn’t think to retreat to Heaven? Get reset?” Cas caught a sharp bitterness to Gabriel’s voice. Interesting.

“They dragged me up a few weeks before Lucifer was set free.” There was definitely a flicker to Gabriel’s grace now. What was it – pity? The archangel seemed to realise, schooling his features once more into a sardonic smirk.

“Well, you’re thoroughly screwed, and not in the fun way. I’d say, at the rate you’re losing grace, you’ll be practically human within a year. Barely enough left to take the place of a soul.”

“If that’s what it takes, then so be it.”

“Wow. You’re really gone on that human, aren’t you—?”

“My relationship to Dean is irrelevant. God’s plan is unnecessarily cruel, and phenomenally destructive. To stand by and allow billions of humans to die while Lucifer and Michael battle – can you not see how wrong that would be? Heaven’s path is no longer righteous. I cannot follow them.”

“Come on, really? We’ve had the plan imprinted in our heads since these charming little mud monkeys evolved, and only now you’re seeing a problem with it? Be honest. You found a man.”

“It is better to realise your mistakes and work for forgiveness, than to continue committing atrocities simply because it’s easier.”

Gabriel was no longer smirking, his features nearly blank.

“You’re very idealistic, little bro. You should be more careful with who you choose to follow. Never know how far you might let them guide you blindly.”

He disappeared.

Unfortunately Cas was still trapped, with nothing to do but muse over their conversation.

* * *

 

After days trapped inside Gabriel’s pocket universe, of course both Winchesters were starving. Dean drove them all to a nearby diner. Castiel had no urgent task to return to, content for now to just spend time in their company while he rebuilt his energy. Dean seemed pleased to have him along, so Castiel settled into the seat across the table. He rejected the offer of food and drink, of course.

They fell into easy conversation. Joking about the various shows, Dean teasing Sam for the herpes commercial, Sam rolling his eyes and bringing up Dr Sexy. Castiel relaxed, just letting the conversation flow around him. Dean seemed to be in a good mood, despite everything.

Staring at the man before him, Castiel was suddenly struck by the thought that Dean was incredible. And Castiel…Castiel wanted very much so to become intimate with him. To press the flesh of this crafted vessel against Dean’s body until he was shuddering in pleasure. To engulf Dean’s soul within the wings of his grace and entangle with him until neither of them had a single coherent thought beyond pleasure and bliss.

Oh, God. Gabriel was right.

Castiel swallowed.

“Cas? You still there, buddy?”

“Yes. Sorry, my mind was drifting.”

“That actually happens with angels, too, huh?”

“Of course it does. Angelkind are literally composed of thought and energy.”

“Yeah, but doesn’t that holiness count for something?”

“We can achieve a level of focus beyond human comprehension, but boredom does still exist for angels. When not on an active mission, it’s especially tedious.”

“That happen a lot then?”

“Thankfully not.”

Dean grinned across at him. Castiel’s heartbeat began to speed, making his face heat.

This was bad. Why was his vessel beginning to react to attraction? Surely his grace should supress any reaction.

“I have to go.”

Cas stepped out of the booth, sliding out of sight before flying away. He wasn’t quick enough to miss how Dean’s face fell. Guilt at disrupting his good mood was nearly enough to call him back.

This wasn’t normal. Castiel knew it wasn’t simply a residual reaction based on the cloned neural structures from Jimmy Novak. This was him, the angel, a being of light and energy, feeling strongly enough to cause a reaction within his vessel. Feeling attraction strongly enough for his vessel to become aroused.

Quickly, he cleansed the neurotransmitters from his body and the hormones from his blood, restoring the vessel to homeostasis. The arousal faded, heartbeat and breathing normalising.

The attraction didn’t leave. Castiel still wanted him.

Thinking back, Cas had been experiencing many extreme reactions centred around Dean. The cold, ruthless anger that nearly sent him to crusade against Heaven. The sharp horror that he had been intruding on Dean’s privacy unintentionally. The intense devotion he had felt serving Dean’s cause. The relief and calm he felt, strong enough for him to seek Dean’s company between battles.

This was abnormal. Angels didn’t behave like this.

Even back before they had met, hadn’t Castiel been at the forefront of the siege for Dean’s soul, driven ever faster to rescue the human? And what about the interest he’d developed in the first place, watching Dean from Heaven? No other angel had felt compelled to assist him, despite the danger the Michael Sword had been in. No other angel that he knew of had taken the time to read the Winchester Gospels.

Had this been attraction all along? Had this passion underlain his every action?

Raphael had been kind before the death of Ariel.

Cas was not in love with Dean. It wasn’t the same. Being attracted to Dean, impassioned for his cause, fascinated by his soul; it was not the same as love. Was it? No. No, he wasn’t in love with Dean. He would not be shattered by Dean’s death. He was not Raphael. He was not Yrael.

Fuck.

* * *

 

Over the next few weeks, Castiel devoted himself to his mission. Marrakesh. Reykjavik. Toowoomba. Aberystwyth. Kandahar. Novosibirsk. Adama. Snow covered streets. Abandoned, overgrown villages. Humid jungle cities. Breezy, sunlit beaches. He was not limited to a human’s speed of movement. Searching entire cities could be over in minutes, instead of months.

Nothing. The amulet never trembled, never glowed, never heated. God remained untraceable.

Every few days he would call the Winchesters to update them, always hanging up quickly despite the impulse to fly to them. Somehow, just the knowledge that he was avoiding Dean was enough to make him miss the man even more fiercely.

And then came the day Dean asked for him to return.

Castiel couldn’t refuse. He would not. Dean had asked for him. He was his friend, one of the closest friends Castiel had had during the entirety of his existence (honestly, it said a lot about the quality of friendship between angels that there was so little competition). They were allies, and he would not disrupt their purpose simply because he was feeling out of sorts. Dean’s obvious joy at his presence only magnified his guilt.

As it turned out, Dean had actually found the Colt. It was in the possession of a demon named Crowley, a demon Castiel recognised as being second-in-command behind Lilith, rather impressive considering his relative youth. With her dead, he was likely the new King of the Crossroads, a dangerous foe.

Castiel found Crowley easily enough.

Tracking the demon from a deal to his mansion, he found the outside was covered in angel warding. It was impressive. There was nothing he could do to move closer.

It didn’t take long for the humans to construct a plan. Another family of hunters, the Harvelles, offered their assistance. Vary quickly, they acquired access to the villa, returning successful an hour later.

They had the Colt. It was a chance.

* * *

 

With the preparations for their mission complete, Dean and his allies had chosen to spend the rest of the night in revelry. Bobby Singer’s house was quickly filled with the sounds of laughter and bawdy joy. At first, Castiel had stood aside, watching as they shared a meal, at least until Dean noticed. He insisted that Castiel join them, so he did, settling besides Dean at the table. The conversation between them all was a fluid thing, dancing from the best way to hunt ghosts to the best music for long journeys. Jo seemed fascinated by his angelic nature, asking all sorts of questions about Heaven and the Bible. Nearby, her mother Ellen was watching, protective but proud.

With their stomachs filled, the humans began to drink. It was fascinating, watching how much joy they could extract from disorientating themselves together. It wasn’t long before Jo challenged him to a drink-off. No matter what he told her of his resilience to human poisons and disease, she insisted that in was a crucial social bonding activity. He did concede, in the end, downing shots of whisky each time either Jo or Ellen did.

He found he quite liked them.

It wasn’t long after the photo that the humans chose to retire and take what little rest they could, knowing that it was quite possibly their last night. The mood was sombre. Castiel knew it was due to his own practical speech.

He found he was restless. Sitting at the kitchen table, Castiel had been keeping watch for over an hour, listening as each of the humans under his charge settled into sleep. Dean, despite it all, was one of the quickest to sleep.

Their last night on Earth. His last night on Earth. Was it an established tradition to spend a supposed last night in drunken revelry and attempts at fornication? Sam had made no attempt to find a sexual partner, and despite the building lust and friendliness he could feel between Ellen and Bobby, neither had acted on it. Perhaps it was just Dean’s way, a last chance to share some form of gentle touch and pleasure. Jo had rejected his offer rather good-naturedly, after all.

Castiel did wonder why Dean had chosen to take him to a brothel those months ago, when he was so comfortable offering himself to Jo tonight.

Perhaps it was simply because he was closer to Jo. The idea of sex with her would have a greater meaning, provide a greater balm to his nerves, to be with someone so familiar.

The thought left him unsatisfied, sending a coil of grace twisting unpleasantly in his gut. So what? Of course Dean was closer to his human comrades than he was to Castiel, it was only natural. Dean was the single most important catalyst in Castiel’s life, the one being who ignited his doubts and misgivings to replace them with purpose and righteousness. Acting as the foci for Castiel to orient himself on when all of his kin had proven treacherous did not mean he shared a similar role within Dean’s life, though he would like to believe they were at least friends. Yes. They were friends.

Thinking back to that day, Castiel was unsure if he would have accepted any advance from Dean, even if Dean had felt to offer himself. It had been nearly a day before he had been able to accept even the idea that he desired Dean or Dean’s pleasure. The surprise alone at the intensity of his reaction would have probably sent him fleeing after no more than a kiss, though intrigue would likely have drawn him back quickly enough.

Perhaps he could ask Dean if he would accept a kiss.

No. It was inappropriate.

If they were successful, then Castiel would be returning to Heaven. If they were not, it was unlikely any of them would survive. There would be no further chances for last nights, and Castiel would not spend his wishing for another.

Although, there were still many hours left of this one.

Castiel looked deeper into the house. Bobby lay sleeping across the couch, Sam sprawled on an old roll-up mattress nearby. Upstairs, he could sense the sleeping souls of Dean in the guestroom while Ellen and Jo shared the master bed. With a blink, he flew outside to the junkyard, searching until he found a spot out of sight from the house. Leaning back against an old car, he drew his grace away from his vessel’s living functions, relaxing minutely as it pooled within his chest and the miniscule toll they drew from his energy ceased. Immediately, he was aware of his vessel’s hunger, and thirst, and exhaustion. Grace may be enough to sustain a body, but it was not nearly as satisfying when compared to the true processes of living. Frowning, Castiel adjusted his grace, slipping and folding it up until it covered some functions, but not others. The hunger faded, as did the thirst. Exhaustion was a little more difficult, since it was a condition shared by both the body and the ethereal, but that too faded.

Satisfied, Castiel merely rested for a moment, enjoying the feeling of blood pumping through his every artery and vein, the taste of hormones and neurotransmitters as they were created in reaction to his thoughts and emotions. With such visceral sensations, it was easy to see how humans could get so muddled up as to think their emotions originated from the body instead of the soul.

This was his last night on earth. Castiel would at least experience sexual pleasure this once.

One of his hands drifted towards his penis, tracing over the sensitive flesh through the fabric. He wasn’t erect, but even so the sensation was nice enough and he repeated it slowly. Physiologically, there wasn’t much to it. The stimulation of the nerves from any of his vessel’s erogenous zones would lead to increases in his breathing rate, heart rate and blood pressure, causing his blood to rush and gather within his genitalia. The veins leading from the corpora cavernosa would be compressed, reducing egress of blood from the penis and causing the flesh to grow rigid. Further stimulation would lead to increased muscle tension across his entire vessel, and perhaps the production of pre-ejaculatory fluid, before the conclusion of orgasm. This would trigger the release of oxytocin, prolactin and a series of endorphins.

Practically, it appeared there was more to sexual pleasure than simply knowing the mechanics behind it. Castiel was still flaccid, and even repeated stimulation didn’t feel particularly arousing, or anything more than sort of nice. A little ticklish, maybe.

Castiel sighed, dropping his hand away. He had the feeling that he may be approaching this the wrong way.

Maybe if he began with arousal. The human body was a system, designed to work a certain way. Without his grace to hinder it, surely it would react in a predictable manner.

So.

Closing his eyes, Castiel tried to draw up anything that had caused him arousal. There wasn’t much. No particular angel came to mind, although there was something like regret surrounding the memory of Balthazar. Admiration for Ananchel, Anna as she preferred now, was swallowed up by regret as well. Appreciation for human beauty was not really the same as arousal, and honestly it felt a little odd to try and consider a different species as arousing, though the neural pathways from Jimmy Novak remained strong enough to create a preference for blonde females. On reflection, he had barely a single thought of sexual nature about any being he had ever met, aside from the echoes left from his previous host.

That is, except for Dean.

Castiel frowned, turning his head to stare in the direction of the house. Of course, it remained completely out of sight, but he was still able to sense the souls inside. He was still able to pick out Dean.

Even in passing, the idea of Dean’s pleasure, the idea of Dean choosing to share that with Castiel, was enough to increase his breathing rate. He could sense his vessel beginning to react. Further thoughts of Dean would only help increase that arousal.

Was it wrong to think of his friend in a sexual manner for his own pleasure? Was it wrong to masturbate to thoughts of them? Would it be wrong to orgasm as he imagined Dean caught up in similar bliss?

Brushing a finger along his semi-hard length, Castiel considered the question. There was no doubt that it was only thoughts of Dean that had caused this arousal. Mechanical stimulation alone would be enough to carry forwards from this point, but it would almost definitely prove more enjoyable to weave in mental-emotional stimulation too.

If Jo were to think of Dean while masturbating, he would likely take it as a compliment. Castiel nodded. It _was_ a compliment. Dean was a truly amazing individual. The mere thought of him was enough to create pleasure.

It wasn’t wrong, Castiel decided. As long as he remained aware that his thoughts of Dean and the real Dean were separate, then it wasn’t wrong. As long as he never assumed Dean owed him pleasure, it wasn’t wrong. Merely speculation designed to drive him mad with want.

How would a liaison between them begin? A kiss. Gentle at first, exploring each other’s lips, tasting each other. Or maybe rough. Dean pressing into his space, angry and lustful. His tongue plunging forwards into Cas’s mouth, sensitive flesh sliding together as Cas’s hands brushed through Dean’s hair.

Dean’s mouth on his neck, licking and nibbling and kissing. Dean’s hands on his waist, kneading his shoulders, tangling in his hair. Dean’s body, pressing closer, shifting against him.

Castiel moaned, his head falling back as his hand moved faster. He was fully hard now, uncomfortable, held tight within his trousers. Quickly, he unbuckled his belt, drawing the rigid flesh free. The cold air nearly made him hiss.

Erections looked weird. Tracing it with his fingers, he picked out more sensitive zones. Along the vein underneath. Near the head. The very tip.

Would Dean explore? Would he focus on more sensitive areas, or maybe avoid them just to hear Cas groan? Maybe he’d use his mouth.

Oh. Yes. Yes, that was—

Dean’s tongue, wet slick heat, tracing the same path as Cas’s fingers. Sucking. His thumb brushed through fluid leaking from the tip, his hand moving slicker, faster.

What would Dean taste like?

Cas moaned. Loudly.

Closer. He needed to be closer. Dean needed to be closer, until Cas could barely think. Dean inside him. Was that possible? Yes, yes, Dean sliding within him. Drawing Dean closer, wrapping him within wings and arms and legs as Dean shifted deeper. Faster.

With a gasp, he came.

Castiel slumped back against the car.

That had been a very pleasing experience, he mused, eyes shifting to stare towards the house. Dean was correct about that.

He wandered back towards the house.

A few hours later, they all began to awaken.

Oddly, seeing Dean, Castiel felt his cheeks flush deeply. Dean didn’t notice, going about his business like normal. Somehow, his attractiveness appeared to have grown, and in response Castiel’s thoughts had grown unruly. Perverted. His imagination transformed dean’s stretching body into something sexual. Glancing at his hands, calloused and strong, Cas could nearly feel them against his hips, pinning him with inhuman strength.

They were moving out towards the cars when Castiel realised he had spent most of the morning in a kind of daze.

“Cas? You riding with us, or want to meet us there?”

“Uh,” he replied. Scowling, he shook away the daze. “Sorry, I wasn’t – could you repeat that?”

“You alright?” Dean was frowning. It only seemed to extenuate his lips. Cas swallowed, finding Dean’s eyes.

“I am fine. Simply feeling more human than I should.”

Dean was still frowning.

“You gonna be alright going up against Lucifer?”

“I am not helpless, Dean. Merely more tired than an angel should be.”

“Sure, okay.” He shrugged, turning to walk to the driving seat of the Impala. “You driving with us, then?”

Spend roughly seven hours in the same car as Dean, trapped with the brightness of his soul clearly visible? His scent permeating the air? His voice tracing across Castiel’s grace? All the while, his hyperactive, apparently very sexual thoughts transforming Dean’s every action and aspect into something arousing?

“Actually, I thought I would travel with the Harvelles. We bonded last night, sharing strong alcoholic beverages.”

Dean snorted, grinning though he did seem vaguely disappointed.

“Well, look out for them. They’re family.”

“I will protect them as fiercely as I would you or your brother,” Castiel vowed.

“Good.” Dean rolled his eyes as he walked away.


	15. Chapter 15

The ride to Carthage, Missouri, was slow, confining. Boring. Did humans travel like this all the time? Castiel knew the answer to be yes, limited as they were by fleshy vessels, but still. Why didn’t they simply allow him to fly them all there?

Perhaps he was being unfair. Driving with Dean hadn’t been nearly so frustrating.

He did attempt to make conversation with the Harvelles.

“May I ask for your advice?”

“Sure,” Jo answered.

“Is it commonplace to feel shame after masturbating while fantasising about someone you call a friend?”

Jo spluttered, breaking into a nervous giggle while her mother grew stern.

“Joanna Beth, what is he talking about?”

“What? Nothing! I don’t know!”

“I assure you, Ellen Harvelle, my query is in no way related to your daughter.”

Neither woman responded immediately. Cas didn’t notice at first, assuming they were simply thinking it over, but after the silence had begun to drag for several minutes, he realised that both women seemed tense. Perhaps they were uncomfortable with the subject matter.

“I apologise. As I understand it, not every human is comfortable talking about masturbatory habits.”

Jo snorted again, turning to face him from the front seat.

“Nah, don’t worry about it. I guess most people sort of just pick this stuff up?”

“I thought it would be more expedient to simply ask.”

“Of course you did,” Ellen muttered.

“Who were you thinking about?” Jo asked.

“I, uh – I think perhaps I shouldn’t say.”

Jo was smirking now, and Cas could feel his cheeks begin to grow red. Ellen, on the other hand, was nearly glaring now.

“Careful how you answer that, angel.”

“He could not be more clearly referring to Dean.”

Castiel blushed more strongly, turning to stare out of the window. Jo was still giggling.

“You did seem a little sweet on him, actually.” Ellen conceded.

“He is a remarkable individual. The most beautiful soul I have ever encountered.”

“Dean’s a good kid.”

“Yes, he is.”

“And you jerked off to him?” Jo snorted.

“Uh. Yes.”

“Was imaginary Dean any good?”

“Joanna Beth!”

“Sorry, Mom. What was your question, again, Cas?”

“Is it common to feel shame after masturbation? Particularly after fantasising about a friend?”

 “Um, well, it’s not like it’s uncommon. I mean, I think some of that’s plain o’ regular shame getting to them, but yeah, from what I know loads of people feel embarrassed or ashamed afterwards. It isn’t something I really ever asked my friends about.”

“But why do I feel so uncomfortable near him? I know he isn’t the same person as the Dean within my imagination.”

“I dunno. It’s just one of those things, I guess. Like, If you’ve thought about them that way once, it gets easier to imagine them like that again? Then you feel embarrassed because it’s distracting, or because the other person doesn’t know you think that way.”

“How do I stop this feeling?”

The women exchanged a look, and Cas saw Jo shrug. Ellen sighed, speaking up.

“Mostly, you don’t. Either you get over it, or you find out if the other person feels the same.”

Cas frowned, considering the options.

“Neither of those work right now. I need to be comfortable around Dean quickly, we will be working together very soon. Already he noticed a difference in my behaviour this morning.”

“Then I don’t know what to tell you.”

“Why is this suddenly an issue, feathers? Aren’t you used to the UST between you two?” Jo cut in.

“UST?”

“Come on, unresolved sexual tension. I was only around you two for like one night, and already I’ve been picking it up like mad. You two keep staring at each other like you’re starving.”

“I was not aware of my physical attraction to Dean until very recently.”

“How recently are we talking?” Jo asked.

“Is this entirely relevant?”

“I dunno, maybe.”

Castiel considered. It made sense. With more information, Jo and Ellen would be better equipped to assist him.

“I realised I am sexually aroused by Dean just over a month ago. I only chose to act on it yesterday.”

Jo was grinning again, her face flushed red. Even Ellen looked on the edge of laughter.

“By jacking off, yeah?” Jo snickered.

“…yes?”

“Well. What do you usually do when you feel horny around someone you know?” Ellen asked.

“It has never been an issue before. That is why I am asking.”

“Never?”

“Yes.”

“Not even with like, lady angels or anything?”

“No. No angels. No humans. Just Dean. Do you have any suggestions?”

“No need to get snippy with me, angel. Just askin’.” Ellen glowered.

 “I apologise. This is a frustrating situation.”

“Does that mean you’re a virgin?” Jo spoke up.

He sighed.

“Technically yes, in the modern sense of the word.”

“But you’re so ancient! Never?”

“It really isn’t that uncommon. Even among humans, there are those that never feel attraction to others, and feel no need to seek companionship.”

“Huh. Well, the more you know.” Jo mused.

“I’m guessing trying to ignore Dean doesn’t work.” Ellen said.

“No.”

“Then I’m not sure what to tell you. Either you’ll get used to it or get over it.”

“I suspected that might be the case.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s alright. I will work something out.”

* * *

 

There were reapers everywhere.

“Reapers? As in more than one?” Ellen asked.

“They only gather like this in times of great catastrophe,” Castiel replied. “Chicago fire, San Francisco quake, Pompeii. Excuse me, I need to find out why they’re here.”

Wandering between the reapers, he left the Harvelles behind. He would return in a few minutes. It was safe enough, considering how empty the town was of anything living.

Street after street, each was filled with reapers. Waiting. Watching. None of them appeared to even register his presence, far too focused on whatever event was approaching. This was beginning to worry him. He needed to find the leader of this district.

Motion in a high window caught his attention. The first reaper that wasn’t held in a trance. Flying to the room, he made to follow.

As he landed, a ring of fire burst into being, nearly burning his wings before he could withdraw them.

Stupid!

“Hello, brother,” a voice rang out.

Of course it was a trap. An angel stepped forwards, one he’d never met before. Even so, he was easily recognisable.

“Lucifer.”

“So, I take it you tagged along with the Winchesters.”

Lie.

“I came alone,” he replied.

Lucifer seemed amused, his wings ruffling.

“Loyalty,” He purred. “So nice to see in this day and age. Castiel, right? Castiel. I’m told you came here in an automobile.”

Told. Lucifer must have servants across the city. How much had they seen of the brothers and the Harvelles? Were they still being watched now? He needed to get back to them.

Castiel had a feeling he might know what had brought the reapers here.

“Yes.”

“What was that like?”

“Slow. Confining.”

“What a peculiar thing you are.”

Lucifer stepped closer, his face illuminated by the ring of holy fire trapping Cas. He didn’t look healthy. Raw, bleeding sores were scattered across his grey skin, like sunspots seared by arcs of grace.

“There is something wrong with your vessel.”

“Yes. Um, Nick is wearing a bit thin, I’m afraid. He can’t contain me forever, so—“

“You—“ Castiel made to step forwards, tried to flex his wings, only to stop short at the fiery barrier. “You will not touch Sam Winchester. I won’t let you.”

“Castiel. I don’t understand why you’re fighting me, of all angels.” Lucifer stated, his face contorted with some sort of genuine confusion.

“You really have to ask?”

“I rebelled, I was cast out. You rebelled, you were cast out. Almost all of heaven wants to see me dead, and guess what? If they succeed, you’re their new public enemy number one. We’re on the same side, like it or not, so why not just serve your best interests? Which in this case, just happen to be mine?”

“I’ll die first.”

“I suppose you will,” Lucifer sighed.

“What in our Father’s name makes you think we are even remotely similar? Rebellion? We rebelled for entirely contradictory causes.”

“If you say so.”

A demon approached, wearing the flesh of a short brunette woman. Smothered within the tendrils of demonic energy, the woman’s soul was shivering, whimpering, unaware of the world around her.

“I got the Winchesters pinned down. For now, at least. What should I do with them?”

“Leave them alone.”

She paused at his response, her eyes going wide.

“I – I’m sorry, but are you sure? Shouldn’t we—“

“Trust me, child. Everything happens for a reason.”

The demon grew visibly calmer at Lucifer’s words, gazing up adoringly. The way Lucifer traced his fingers over her face was very possessive.

“Well, Castiel, you have some time. Time to change your mind?”

* * *

 

Lucifer spoke for nearly an hour. It quickly became apparent that he didn’t care one way or the other for Castiel’s responses, content to listen to his own self-aggrandizing spiel. Behind him, the demon introduced as Meg watched Lucifer in adulation.

A rumbling explosion drew his attention. Lucifer fell silent, glancing to Meg and then outside.

“Well. Let’s put a pin in this for now,” Lucifer said, pointing a finger towards him.

The devil disappeared, presumably to investigate the cause of the explosion. There was a strong chance it was also the location of the Winchesters.

Castiel needed to escape. How, though? The holy fire prevented his direct interaction with anything in the room. Although, Raphael had still been able to control the weather to some extent, even trapped. Perhaps there was something he could do.

Carefully, he sent out a tendril of grace, closer and closer to the barrier. There was a moment of struggle as it crossed the fire. It drained his energy quickly, but after a few seconds of effort a miniscule amount of his power was past the barrier.

He kept his face apathetic, concealing his success. Now, he simply had to find something to break the circle.

It was only a few minutes after Lucifer had left that the demon, Meg, grew visibly bored, stretching languidly against the wall. Wrapped up in her victory, she sauntered around the ring of holy fire, convinced of her power and superiority.

He could use her. His grace wasn’t strong enough to attack her, filtered as it was by the fire, but he could still move small objects. A large pipe running across the ceiling drew his attention.

“You seem pleased,” Castiel told her, drawing her attention.

“We’re gonna win. Can you feel it? You cloud-hopping pansies lost the whole damn universe! Lucifer’s gonna take over Heaven. We’re going to Heaven, Clarence!”

Meg easily fell victim to her own arrogance. She moved to stand only inches away from him, separated by the fire and nothing else. He couldn’t allow her focus to stray.

“Strange. Because I heard a different theory from a demon named Crowley.”

“You don’t know Crowley,” she scoffed.

“He believes Lucifer is just using demons to achieve an end, and that once he does, he’ll destroy you all.”

Meg shook her head, refusing to believe his words.

“You’re wrong. Lucifer is the father of our race. Our creator. Your God may be a deadbeat. Mine – mine walks the Earth.”

The pipe fell loose, swinging directly into the demon’s back. She was propelled forwards, over the fire and into Castiel’s arms. Shifting, he made to destroy her.

Nothing happened.

After a second, the startled look faded from her, and she began to press closer with a smirk.

“You can’t gank demons, can you? You’re cut off from the home office, and you ain’t got the juice. So what can you do, you impotent sap?” she drawled, her eyes dropping to his lips. Slowly, her hands slid across his chest, settling onto his shoulders. Was she attracted to him?

“I can do this.”

Leaning forwards, he tilted his head as if to kiss her. She arched upwards to meet him, fingers digging into his arms with a strength that could break bones on a human, and was nearly enough to bruise him. Demonic strength was nothing compared to angelic strength, even for one half-fallen.

Twisting, he threw her across the flames, effectively breaking the circle.

There was something satisfying in stepping on the hellspawn’s back as she screamed on holy fire. Castiel wished he had the time to savour it, but for now he had to check on the humans under his guardianship.

Flying across the town, he could immediately sense a huge gathering of energy. The reapers were watching, waiting for their master to arise. Because what could this be anything other than the rising of the Horseman Death? Not a single living soul inhabited the town.

A fire caught his attention. Several hellhounds lay dead in the hollows of a destroyed building, their bodies embedded with iron nails. At the centre of the destruction lay the remnants of two human bodies.

Ellen and Jo. Castiel had failed his promise to Dean.

Where were the brothers? Obviously they were in trouble, if Death was about to arise. He really needed to find some way to track Dean without relying on phone calls.

On a hunch, Castiel flew towards the gathering energy, focused on Lucifer’s Grace. He landed directly behind the brothers, in time to fly them away from the ceremony. They left to the sound of Lucifer’s laughter.


	16. Chapter 16

The next time Dean called Castiel, he had just been contacted by Anna.

“Dean. I was there. No one just escapes from Heaven’s prisons. Anna has been compromised, I assure you.”

“Compromised, like, serving Heaven?”

“Yes.”

“So what, then? We just going to ignore her? What if she actually needs help?”

Castiel could tell Dean wasn’t going to back down.

“Let me meet her first. If it isn’t a trap, I will call you.”

“Would she even talk to you though? She seems pretty bitter about that whole getting her sent upstairs thing.”

“I betrayed her after undergoing Heaven’s tortures, despite my fondness for her. If she has not been compromised, she will understand.”

Dean stared at him. Castiel stared back. Dean had to understand, Heaven’s rack could be just as persuasive as Hell’s.

“Fine. But if it’s at all shady, you’re pulling out. You got me?”

“I got you.”

So it was that Castiel found himself concealed within the shadows of the warehouse Anna had chosen as a meeting place. Anna herself was already there, watching for any being that approached. It wasn’t hard to pick out the blade hidden on her belt, or that she was aware he was here.

“Hello? Who’s there?”

Castiel darted forwards, landing behind the other angel. She stilled, sensing his presence, before turning slowly.

“Hello, Anna.”

She smiled, though it appeared more as a grimace.

“Well. If I didn’t know any better…” She looked away, searching the rest of the building for any signs of life. “I’d say the Winchesters don’t trust me.”

“They do. I don’t. I wouldn’t let them come.”

He shifted closer, immediately grabbing her attention. She fixated on him like a wary animal, ready at any moment to strike out.

She did not look well. She was bright, as an angel should be – bright in a way he no longer was – but there was no movement to her. Her wings didn’t gleam. Her grace didn’t flow or shift as it should, and the edge of her song sounded more like screeches than bells. It was very clear she was in pain.

Castiel wondered why he had never noticed the symptoms of recently re-disciplined angels before. Minor disobediences and deviations were not that uncommon, not so much that discipline was rare. Perhaps he and Anna had experienced much more severe treatment than normal. Then again, knowing his brethren, it was just as likely their disciplinarian had worked some sort of wilful ignorance to help ignore the side effects of their work.

When he’d returned to Earth after his capture, Cas had been absolutely certain nothing was wrong with him, despite every movement causing him pain. It had been enough to influence his vessel subconsciously, even without weakened grace. He was sure that to another angel, he would have looked as much a mess as Anna did now.

But still, he could not remember ever seeing an angel in this state.

“And why is that?”

“If you’re out of prison, it’s because they let you out. And they sent you here to do their dirty work.”

“And what makes you so sure?” Her voice was angry. Defensive.

“Because I’ve experienced…Heaven’s persuasion.”

She gave a single harsh laugh.

“You mean when you gave me to them.”

“That was a mistake.”

When he’d returned, he had been lost. Helpless and in agony unacknowledged. Still, spending mere minutes in Dean’s presence – having someone care for him, try to help, promise their assistance with no strings attached – it had nearly been enough to undo him all over again. Their next interaction had broken Heaven’s hold on him completely.

Was there a way to reach beneath Anna’s conditioning? She was rebellious as it was, surely they hadn’t destroyed everything that defined her.

“Anna, whatever they sent you here to do—“

“They didn’t send me. I escaped.”

“No one escapes.”

“All these centuries, and you’re underestimating me now?”

No one escaped. It wasn’t possible, even for a warrior of her calibre. Hundreds of warriors resided in Heaven, simply waiting for the opportunity to be of assistance in the End of Days. Even Anna could not fight off that many alone. They knew the inner workings of angels, they knew how to access them, and they’d held her for months by now. If she thought she’d escaped, it only proved how thoroughly they had broken her.

“If you’re not one of them, then what do you want?” He asked.

“I want to help.”

“You want to help?”

“Yes.”

“Then what are you doing with that knife?”

She drew the knife from behind her.

“What? I’m not allowed to defend myself?”

“Against whom? That blade is not star-forged, it won’t work against angels. It’s not like this one.”

He drew his own blade.

“Maybe you’re not working for Heaven. But there’s something you’re not telling me.”

She swallowed, staring at the blade nearly enviously. Shifting, she drew her eyes back up until they found Castiel’s.

“Sam Winchester has to die. I am sorry, but we have no choice. He’s Lucifer’s vessel.”

“He’s not the only one.”

“What, Nick? He’s burning away as we speak. No. Sam is the only vessel that matters. If Lucifer can’t take Sam, his whole plan short-circuits. No fight with Michael, no croatoan virus. The Horsemen go back to their day jobs. ”

“Even if you could kill Sam, Satan would just bring him back to life.”

“Not after I scatter his cells across the universe.”

That didn’t even make sense. The cells themselves were not the important part, they could be crafted out of any old atoms. Castiel had crafted Dean himself from the atoms making up the dirt around his burial spot. The important part was the soul, which would either ascend, descend, or remain in limbo trapped on the Earth. Lucifer would merely feel the death of his vessel and track the soul, bare and open without the protection offered by the runes on his ribcage.

“They’ll never find him. Not all of him.”

Perhaps reason wasn’t the way to reach her.

“We’ll find another way.”

“How’s that going? How’s the Colt working out? Or the hunt for God? Is anything working? If you want to stop the devil, this is how.”

“The answer’s still no. Sam is my friend.”

“You’ve changed.”

“Maybe too late, but I have.”

“You refuse to help me, and I’ve been your friend longer.”

“Anna, we’ve been through much together, but if you come near Sam Winchester, I’ll kill you.”

She didn’t answer. A moment later, she was gone.

* * *

 

“So, this plan to kill me. Would it actually work?”

“No, Sam, come on.”

Castiel blinked, staring at him in bemusement. Why were all Winchesters so eager to throw themselves on the sacrificial alter? Sam turned away from his brother, returning Castiel’s gaze.

“Cas? Does she have a point?”

“Of course not. I brought Dean back to life, and I’m not even particularly powerful among my kind. An archangel could resurrect you with ease, and without the protection of a body, your vulnerability would actually increase.”

Dean grinned, turning back to gloat at his brother.

“See? Cas gets it.”

Sam, absurdly, actually seemed disappointed.

“So why do you want to find the chick who wants to gank Sam, anyway? Why bother?”

“Anna is an angel. She’ll keep trying until Sam is dead. We need to stop her before that happens.”

“Kill her.”

“If we have to.”

Dean paused.

“Cas, this crazy bitch is after my brother. We’re killing her first.”

“Isn’t it the human way to exert mercy?”

“Not with psychos.”

“You attempted to reason with the cambion child.”

“Yeah, and look where that got us.”

Cas looked up to meet his eyes.

“You removed him from the field of battle without committing murder. Nearly convinced him to join our side.”

“This is different!”

“Because she isn’t human?”

“Because she’s a monster! It’s better if she’s dead!”

“She is the same as I am.”

Dean froze, eyes going wide.

“Did you forget, Dean? I am a monster too. Would it be better if I was dead?”

“Cas, no…”

“You knew her, Dean, before she was recaptured by Heaven. She wanted to live as humans do. She wanted peace, and they twisted her back into their weapon.”

Dean didn’t respond.

“They broke her, Dean, just as they did to me. Do you remember, Dean? The moment we spent outside when you promised your service to Heaven? You noticed the tremble in my hands, the trauma from Heaven’s persuasions. They held Anna far longer, but beneath her madness she is still there. She can still be saved.”

“It’s not the same.”

“No? Why? Because she is a danger to Sam, you would murder her?”

“She’s a danger to all of us.”

“Would you murder her?”

“Come on, Cas…”

“Do you even see it as murder, or is this the same as putting down a rabid dog to you?”

Dean looked away. In the background, Cas could see Sam staring.

“There is no afterlife for angels, did you know that, Dean? Every one of our dead is gone forever, scattered into light and energy.”

“You came back.”

“And that is enough to terrify an archangel. In over 13 billion years, I am the first and only angel to return to life. Murdering Anna would destroy her in the most final sense, leaving her as nothing more than a pitiful memory of a glorious leader fallen to human vice.”

Cas breathed out heavily, letting his shoulders drop and his wings relax.

“I wish to help her, but I understand it is only a slim chance. It took weeks before the treasonous thoughts you had planted within my mind were able to overcome Heaven’s conditioning. If she nears Sam, I will kill her. She knows that.”

Silence stretched after his last words, until finally Sam spoke up.

“Uh, thanks, Cas.”

“It is no problem. I consider you a friend, Sam. I will not let her attack you.”

“So, what now?”

“I believe she’s gone back to kill your parents, before you were born.”

“You telling me she’s going full Terminator on us?” Dean responded, apparently fine with simply ignoring the tension of the past few minutes.

“…yes?”

“Fine, then. You’ll just send us back and we’ll catch her up before she takes out Sarah Connor.”

“Dean, it’s not that simple. I’ve weakened considerably since being cut off from Heaven. I may not have the strength for this.”

“Well, I’m not really seeing a lot of options here! You’ll just have to play through it!”

“If I were to go alone—“

“No way. They’re our parents, Cas. We’re going.”

“Time travel was difficult even before I lost my connection to Heaven.”

“They’re our mom and dad, Cas. If we can save them, if we can set things right, we have to try.”

Behind him, Sam nodded. Castiel sighed, turning back to Dean.

“If you save them, things won’t be the same.”

“I know. Growing up as civilians, right?”

“The apocalypse may still happen, and neither of you will have the skill to prevent it.”

“Yeah, but maybe it won’t. It’s worth a shot, right?”

“Of course, Dean.” The words tasted bitter.

Sam looked a lot less certain, but he moved to stand on Castiel’s other side. When both were firmly in place, Castiel began to send his mind back. It was difficult. At full power, time was already a confusing mesh of sound and vibrations, but with less than half his usual power capacity it was nearly indecipherable noise. No, wait, there was some level of dissonance around the year 1978, something out of time. Castiel focused past a rapidly building headache, trying to isolate the cause of the disturbance. There was still a possibility that it was a different angel, and if they discovered Castiel unlawfully bringing humans – archangel vessels, no less! – out of their correct time, it would be reported straight to Heaven. Castiel would be far too weak to protect the Winchesters, if that was the case.

Castiel was fairly certain the disturbance was Anna. It tasted vaguely of her Grace. That was good enough.

Moving through time was a completely different matter to listening through it. At a subatomic level, all matter tended to point in one direction which humans had characterised as time. Microterrains in spacetime did alter the flow, but like water across rocks it was all going in one particular direction, called the future. In that way, moving forwards felt natural. Moving back did not.

The process was familiar enough. Using what he could spare of his Grace, Castiel began to prod at the spacetime around them, folding it again and again. The aim was to create a sort of funnel shape, but one with spines and hidden pockets. The trick was all in how you crimped the edges. Next all you had to do was rip yourself out of the regular flow of time, fly down through the funnel, readjusting it as you flew so you didn’t miss, before forcing your way through the eye of the funnel. That moment of flexible reality and folded spacetime was the only opportunity you got to fly to a safe location so that you weren’t stuck halfway through a wall, before time began to flow normally again. Unfortunately many humans died before the angels learned that last minute flight trick.

Routine or not, Castiel had not anticipated exactly how draining the trip would be. Only seconds after landing, he could feel his Grace begin to go haywire. Already he was gasping for breath, breath he shouldn’t need, his heartbeat nearly jumping from his chest. His knees gave out a moment later, though thankfully Dean caught him before he collapsed on his face.

“Hey! Hey, Cas, whoa! You really weren’t kidding, were you?”

His eyes were heavy. Castiel felt something solid against his back and under his thighs, Dean cupping his face. Hadn’t he been standing? Dean looked concerned. Behind him, Sam loomed.

“That went better than I thought it would.”

“This is better!?”

“Yep. We all survived.”

Castiel tried to shrug, but he wasn’t sure he managed. An odd look crossed Dean’s face, before the man shook it away, leaning forwards to lift Castiel back up to standing. His head was spinning. Was this what shock felt like to humans? It was horrible. Vaguely, he was aware of Dean on one side, Sam on the other, both helping to suspend his weight. Castiel wished they would stop. It would be so much more comfortable just to curl on the ground.

There was some talking. Too loud. Blood was throbbing in his ears. Dean. Dean was still carrying him. Guiding him across the stairs.

Dean was lowering him onto something soft. Castiel spilled across the bed, pressing closer to smooth cotton. Beds were so comfortable. Why had he never tried to sleep in one before?

No. He couldn’t sleep. Dean needed help, Anna was…Anna was going to…something. She had to be stopped. He needed to protect Dean.

Dean’s soul was near. It felt nice, like cool water.

* * *

 

Castiel had known of the Winchesters for centuries before ever actually meeting one. All the Host knew of them. John, Mary, Dean and Sam. Between them, they were direct descendants of two archangel original vessels, Michael on John’s side and Lucifer on Mary’s side. At some point in the future their children, or perhaps their great grandchildren, would lead the Apocalypse alongside Michael and Lucifer.

For now, the families were happy. Either by chance or Fate, their connection to the Men of Letters had been forgotten. Mary lived with only the most minimal contact with the supernatural, stilted communications with her estranged family. The brothers were raised ignorant of their heritage, but happy.

Castiel never expected to meet one.

Relaxing on a bluff deep within Shawnee National Park, he hadn’t noticed at first as the human approached. It was one of the calmer times between battles, and Castiel was glad to take advantage of the quiet.

It had been a very long time since he had last been near a human. He had to admit, he was curious. What would the human think of meeting an angel? Of knowing that there was truly a greater plan to it all?

It hardly mattered, of course. Castiel was vesselless, as invisible to human eyes as radio waves and just as intangible. In the most technical sense, the human – now climbing to the top of the bluff – had already wandered within the confines of his grace and being.

It seemed rude to let that continue, now that Castiel was aware of his presence. Shifting slowly, he folded himself down until he was closer to the human in scale.

The human gasped.

Castiel paused, examining him, trying in vain to decipher the emotion expressed across his face. The human was staring in vaguely his direction, eyes roving across his form. Was he watching the sunset?  Tracing the last vestiges of light as it shimmered across the landscape?

He resumed his motions, watching the human closely for his reactions.

The human was still watching him. Even as Castiel stepped away from the vista, the human traced his eyes over wings and twisting grace.

“Can you see me?”

The human shrieked, pressing his hands to his ears as he coiled inwards in pain. Stumbling forwards, it was only Castiel’s intervention that prevented the human from tumbling down the slope, strong tendrils of grace darting forwards to hold him in place.

The human jerked, eyes coming up to meet Castiel’s, dancing across every eye he possessed.

“Whoa.”

Castiel blinked.

“You can see me.” The human flinched again at his voice, but it appeared he was not nearly as pained this time.

“Yeah.”

“Are you not scared?”

“Of what, the wings?” The human snorted, eyes wide in what Castiel now realised was awe. “The hundred eye thing? The tentacles?”

“That is what most humans find frightening.”

“I’m not most humans.”

“Apparently not.”

Satisfied the human was no longer in danger of falling, Castiel drew his grace away, folding himself down even further until he was roughly the same size as a human, roughly human in shape.

“Awesome.”

Castiel tiled his hands, examining the shape he had taken. It actually looked very close to a real human, if a real human was lit from within to approximately the same brightness as the sun. His “skin” seemed paper-thin, a shifting net of microscopic sigils made of grace, nearly enough to conceal the energy within.

“I suppose.”

“What are you?”

Castiel blinked, surprised when the action actually cut off his vision for a second. Apparently he only had one pair of eyes now that actually functioned.

“I am an angel.”

“No, you can’t be.”

Castiel frowned.

“Why not?”

“Angels don’t exist.”

“What do you think I am, then?”

“I don’t know, a hallucination?”

“Do you often have hallucinations?”

“No, but it’s more likely than you being some servant of God or whatever.”

The human smiled, holding out his hand. Castiel examined it before mirroring the action. As they went to make contact, he reinforced it with grace, enough to give it some resistance so the human’s hand wouldn’t just pass right through.

Pleased, the human made to shake their joined hands in a manner Castiel had noticed was often used as a greeting.

“I’m Dean.”

“My name is Castiel.”

“Well, Castiel, whatever you are, it’s pretty great to meet you.”

“I haven’t met a human before.”

“Really?”

“Never. Almost no humans are able to see me.”

“Dude!” Dean whistled, “They’re missing out! You look like some amazing sculpture thing made of sunlight.”

Castiel shifted, somewhat bemused but still pleased by his compliment.

“Thank you. You look remarkably well proportioned and have very symmetrical, fine features.”

“That your way of saying I look hot?” Dean grinned.

“You are beautiful.”

“Aw, shucks, Cas. You know just what to say to make a girl tear up.” Dean’s cheeks did seem to grow redder as he spoke, though he was still smiling, so it seemed all was well.

“Wait. You are Dean Winchester.”

“Yeah?” he seemed confused.

Poor Dean, unaware even now how much misery lay ahead for his family. Oddly Castiel felt an ache, something at the very core of his being. Dean did not deserve to be caught up in the Apocalypse, or to have Fate decree he should kill his brother. How cruel a design, that even if he managed to avoid that fate his children should be the ones to suffer.

Castiel would not allow it. What did it matter that he was merely a sergeant? He knew to the core of his being that this plan was wrong, and he would do all he could to prevent it ever coming to fruition. What was so bad with the world continuing as it was? Heaven and Hell grinding slowly against each other, neither gaining any ground and leaving bare space for the humans to exist in peace?

“Dean. I promise you, I will guard you and your family from misfortune and the machinations of Heaven. So I swear.”

Dean mostly seemed confused, though he was pleased when Castiel moved closer to embrace him. As the magic of his words and their bond snapped into being, a scar appeared upon Dean’s shoulder following the shape of Castiel’s grace-formed hand.

“Cas, this is so much.”

“Do not worry, Dean. I will keep you safe.”

“Yeah, but what about you? I can’t just let you step between me and whatever. What if you get hurt?”

“Then I will have done my duty.”

“Bullshit! No, if you’re gonna guard me then I get to guard you back. Fair’s fair.”

“It doesn’t work that way.”

“No, we protect each other. That’s how it’s gonna be.”

Dean looked stern, though it melted back to joy as Castiel acquiesced.

“Okay.”

“Awesome. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Even formed only of grace, their kiss gave him shivers.

* * *

 

Castiel awoke disorientated, the scraps of his dream quickly fading from memory. The vibrantly coloured décor and the tang of stale cannabis smoke didn’t do much to clarify as the last scraps of his dream began to slip away.

Every bone in his body ached, muscles burning whenever he tried to move. He was an angel, this level of damage to a vessel was unheard of. Why was he in 1978, and not 2010?

Dean. Anna had gone after Dean’s parents, and Dean had convinced him to skip through time. Of course it was Dean, it was always bloody Dean, convincing him to do stupid, reckless things. The Winchesters were lucky he hadn’t accidentally scattered their atoms across space.

Sending his Grace out, Castiel couldn’t sense Anna’s presence. Mary and John Winchester were both alive and well, though echoes of powerful Grace still hung about them. Obviously, another angel had been by, presumably one from the time of the apocalypse. How they hadn’t noticed Castiel was astounding.

Castiel moved to stand up, only then noticing his shirt and jacket were all missing. Instead, scrawled across his ribcage in permanent marker was a reasonable reproduction of the glyphs carved into the ribs of the Winchesters, spelling mistake and all. He couldn’t help smiling at the gesture. Dean may be infuriating at times, but he was a good friend.

Where were they? If another angel had been by, they were definitely in danger. The note by the bed only stated how long the room was rented out for.

Castiel found Mary and John quickly, though it was clear their memories had been wiped. Dean and Sam were nowhere nearby.

Flying around the town, he couldn’t spot them in the diners or in any of the other motel rooms. The abandoned houses, what few there were, still stood empty. He was running out of places to look.

Every hour or so, he returned to the hotel he’d awoken in, updating the note on the bedside table. If dean or Sam found it, they’d know to wait or else tell him where they were heading next. It was so much more difficult to search for them before cellular telephones became popular.

On a whim, Castiel flew to the Campbell family house. It was beginning to fall into disrepair, but it was obvious something had happened recently, smashing the windows and shattering the doors. Grace was burned into the very air, and it was very familiar. Michael had been here. Anna too, though what remained of her Grace was tainted. Lifeless. Remnants of blood and holy oil were rubbed into the floors and walls.

Anna was dead, killed by the Winchesters or Michael, it didn’t matter. If Michael had found them, and considering Mary and John’s rewritten memories he had, then the Winchesters were probably in the correct time. Michael wouldn’t want to go off-script, of course.

So, that meant Castiel had to get back to the future.

The jump was easier this time, if only because he had more spare Grace to stabilise himself with. Still, he wasn’t fully recovered from the first trip and collapsed almost as soon as he landed. Thankfully, that was only a step away from Sam, who lunged to catch him. Dean hurried over a second later.

“Cas, you son of a bitch! You made it!”

 “I…I did? I’m very surprised.”

Castiel was very relieved to note that there were no other angels nearby. It made him feel a lot less guilty about being only seconds away from passing out.


	17. Chapter 17

Two weeks later, Castiel had made no progress searching for God. It was difficult not to become disheartened, especially considering that his Father was omniscient, and probably fully aware of Castiel’s search. Still, he was sure if he could only find God, he could help stop it all. If God knew just how badly Heaven’s plan would impact humanity, surely he would change his mind. Surely he would intervene, send Lucifer back to the Cage, and reshuffle Heaven until it was free of corruption.

The ringing of his phone was a welcome distraction from his thoughts.

“Cas, it’s Dean.”

Castiel smiled, pleased to hear his voice. He stretched his wings ready for flight.

“Hello, Dean. Do you need my assistance?”

“Yeah, come over. Room 31-C, basement level, St James medical…centre.”

Castiel blinked, staring at Dean only a few inches away. Close enough to breathe the same air. Close enough to feel the heat off his body. If he leaned forwards, they would be kissing.

“I’m there now.”

Apparently standing so close to someone he admired and was attracted to was enough to have Castiel mumble inane statements. Castiel swallowed, refusing to tear his eyes away. Why would he even want to tear his eyes away? Dean was beautiful.

“Yeah, I get that.”

Why did Dean stay so close, especially after talking to Castiel about personal space only a few months ago? Did Dean feel this too, the same static that spread through Castiel’s blood whenever they were near? The same longing when they were apart?

Would Dean accept it if Castiel kissed him?

Could Castiel stand it if Dean kissed him, and offered nothing more?

“I’m going to hang up now.”

Luckily it seemed his mouth was talking on its own, not spilling his secrets out for Dean to pick over.

“Right.”

Turning away, he stepped past Dean towards the body.

“What case are you working on?”

“Double suicides. There are marks on their hearts that look like Enochian.” Sam explained.

Leaning closer, he took the heart from Sam’s hands, ignoring the blood.

“You’re right, Sam. These are angelic marks. I imagine you’d find similar marks on the other couple’s hearts as well—“

“So, what are they? What do they mean?”

“It’s a mark of union. This man and woman were intended to mate.”

“Okay, but who put them there?” Dean asked.

“Well, your people call them ‘cupid’.”

 “A what?”

Glancing towards Dean, Castiel tried to explain, “What human myth has mistaken for cupid is actually a lower order of angel. Technically it’s a cherub, third class.”

“Cherub? Like, cherubim?” Sam clarified.

“Yes. They’re stationed all over the world. Dozens of them are active at any one time.”

“Cherubs, like, the little, flying fat kids in diapers?” Dean smirked. Castiel narrowed his eyes in confusion.

“They are not incontinent.”

There was silence for a moment, as Castiel waited for Dean to explain his reference. Dean’s face was composed, but he could see laughter in his eyes. He was nearly certain Dean was teasing him. In the background, he could sense Sam glancing between the two of them, waiting for someone to speak. Eventually, Sam sighed, before trying to get them back on track himself.

“Okay, anyway. So what you’re saying—” Sam began. Castiel cut him off.

“What I’m saying is that a cupid has gone rogue, and we have to stop him – before he kills again.”

“Naturally.” Sam groaned.

“Of course we do.” Dean said solemnly, though the corner of his lips twitched. It drew Castiel’s attention. 

He really needed to stop fixating on Dean’s lips. They gave him lustful ideas.

* * *

 

Castiel realised something was wrong at nearly the same moment the waitress deposited their orders on the table. A salad for Sam, of course, and a burger for Dean. A burger that he was finding it hard to look away from.

His mouth was watering.

Why would –

His grace must be fading more quickly than he thought. Quite suddenly, Castiel was aware that he was starving.

“So what, you just happen to know he likes the cosmos at this place?”

“This place is a nexus of human reproduction. It’s exactly the kind of-” Dean opened the burger to add a sauce, and oh, it did smell very appealing. “-of garden the Cupid will come to-“ Juicy, red meat. Soft, fluffy bread. “-to pollinate.”

Dean, about to take a bite, paused. He lowered the burger back to the plate.

“Wait a moment. You’re not hungry?” Sam exclaimed.

“No” Dean looked to Sam, scowling when he saw his incredulous expression. “What? I’m not hungry.”

“Then you’re not gonna finish that?” The words were out of his mouth before he could stifle them, but Castiel didn’t regret speaking up – especially since Dean only shrugged, sliding the plate towards him. Immediately, he reached for the burger. It smelt even better up close.

There was an ache building quickly within him, a need so sharp it hurt. Was this what starvation felt like to humans? He should have fed more often when Jimmy still resided with him. This was definitely an indulgence he should have allowed.

Grace chimed faintly across the room, drawing his attention. Just as fast, the ache faded to nothing, as if it have never been.

“He’s here.”

Dean and Sam glanced to him, before surreptitiously inspecting the room.

“Where? I don’t see anything,” Sam said.

“There,” Castiel nodded in its direction.

The cupid wasn’t hard to spot, although he was invisible to human senses. A regular cherub, nearly giggling as it went about completing its duties.

“You mean the same-side-of-the-booth couple over there?” Dean asked.

“Meet me in the back,” Cas replied.

He landed in the alleyway behind the bar. The Winchesters burst through the door a second later.

“Cas, where is he?”

“I have him tethered. Zoda kama mahrana. Manifest yourself.”

“So where is he?”

The cupid appeared behind Dean. Encircling his body, the cupid lifted him into a hug, swaying enthusiastically.

“Here I am!”

“Help!”

“Oh, help is on its way! Yes, it is! Yes, it is! Hello, you!” Dropping Dean, the cupid strode forwards to catch Castiel up in a similar embrace. Castiel endured it as well as he was able, but it was no small relief to be dropped back down when the cupid chose to approach Sam.

Dean slid closer to him, eyes on the cupid as he leaned over to mutter, “This is the cupid?”

“Yes.”

Sam’s eyes were wide with horror as the cupid reached him.

“And look at you, huh?”

“No,” Sam shook his head vehemently, hands up to stop the cupid moving any closer.

Unluckily for him, it was no use. The cupid swept him up just as easily.

“Yes! Yes, yes, yes!”

Dean shuffled closer, visibly alarmed as he watched the cupid swing his brother easily from side to side.

“Is this a fight? Are we in a fight?”

“This is…their handshake.” Castiel admitted.

“I don’t like it.”

“Nobody likes it.”

Eventually, the cupid sighed happily, releasing Sam. The man immediately darted away, moving behind Dean’s shoulder. Dean, in what Castiel was sure was an unconscious gesture, shifted to place himself between the cupid and his brother.

“Mhmm. What can I do for you?” The cupid said in a sing-song voice.

“Why are you doing this?” Castiel demanded. The cupid blinked rapidly, fluttering his wings.

“Doing what?”

“Your targets – the ones you’ve marked – they’re slaughtering each other.”

“What? They are?”

Castiel frowned. The cupid seemed genuinely upset at the idea. Dean stepped forwards, a snarl on his lips.

“Listen, birthday suit, we know, okay? We know you’ve been flitting about popping people with your poison arrow, making them murder each other!”

“What we don’t know is why.” Castiel added, just to clarify.

The cupid was trembling, now. He actually looked on the verge of tears, sniffling as he spoke, “You think that I—Well, uh… I don’t know what to say.”

With that, the cupid began bawling. Dean startled, glancing between him and Sam. Sam seemed just as confused about this turn of events as Dean. The cupid continued to cry.

It was awkward.

“Should – should somebody maybe… go talk to him?” Sam asked.

“Yeah, that’s a good idea. Give ‘em hell, Cas.” Dean slapped his shoulder, pushing him forwards.

Castiel sighed. Stepping up until he was directly behind the cupid, Castiel reached forwards, placing his hand against the cupid’s back between his wings. His shoulders were shuddering with every sob.

“Um… look. We didn’t mean to, um… hurt your feelings.”

Looking back, he saw both Winchesters grinning awkwardly in encouragement. Dean even gave a thumbs up gesture. Cas scowled. Cowards.

The cupid spun, latching onto Castiel again, sobbing into his chest. Cas stumbled, before rolling his eyes Heaven-ward. Father save him from clingy cupids.

“Love is more than a word to me, you know! I love love! I love it! And if that’s wrong, I don’t want to be right!”

“Yes, yes, of course. I, uh… I have no idea what you’re saying.”

“I was just on my appointed rounds! Whatever my targets do afterwards, that’s nothing to do with me! I – I was following my orders! Please, brother, read my mind! Read my mind, you’ll see!”

Castiel did. The cupid – Apiazar – really did seem absolutely devoted to the idea of love, in all its’ forms.

“He’s telling the truth.”

“Jiminy Christmas!” Apiazar sighed. “Thank you!”

“Wait, wait – you said you were just following orders. Whose orders?” Dean asked.

“Why, Heaven, silly!”

“Why does heaven care if Harry met Sally?”

“Oh, mostly they don’t. You know, certain bloodlines, certain destinies. Oh, like yours!”

“What?”

“Yeah, the union of John and Mary Winchester – very big deal upstairs. Top priority arrangement,” Apiazar warbled.

“Are you saying you fixed up our parents?” Sam asked, an odd tone to his voice.

“Well, not me, but… yeah! It wasn’t easy, either. Oooh, they couldn’t stand each other at first! But when we were done with them – perfect couple!” Apiazar chattered.

“Perfect?”

“Yeah!”

“They’re dead!” Dean roared.

“I’m sorry, but… the orders were very clear. You and Sam needed to be born. Your parents were just, ah… meant to be. A match made in Heaven!” Apiazar crooned.

Honestly, Cas could have predicted Dean would react with violence. Of course, regardless of his class, Apiazar was an angel, so Dean’s attempt to break his nose only resulted in the human fracturing the bones of his hand while mildly offending the cupid.

“Son of a bitch!”

The cupid shrieked, before disappearing.

“Where is he! Where’s he go!”

“I believe you upset him,” Castiel said.

* * *

 

It was half a day later. After Apiazar had left, Dean and Sam had decided to pursue the investigation through more traditional means. Obviously, if the cupid wasn’t responsible for the deaths, it meant there was another power at work in this town. More research was necessary.

Castiel chose to investigate separately, searching the town for any interesting spikes in supernatural energy.

He was still starving, though.

“Hello, again!”

Castiel flinched as the cupid bodily lifted him for the second time that day. Set on his feet again, Castiel turned to face him.

“Hello, Apiazar. What are you still doing in town?”

“Just finishing my rounds, then I’ll be on my way. I thought I’d stop in for a chat!”

“Stop in? Apiazar, we’ve never met before today.”

“Yes, but…” The cupid shrugged, grinning. “I couldn’t help noticing your love bond! Come on, brother! You have to tell me all about it!”

“Love bond, what are you talking about? I’m not in love.”

The cupid chuckled, shoving gently at Castiel’s shoulder. Castiel blinked in confusion.

“Oh, I won’t judge. You’re hardly the first angel to fall for a human. And at least you won’t have to worry about nephilim, both being in male vessels.”

“Are you talking about Dean?”

“Well, of course, silly! It’s so adorable! You’re so lucky!”

“I don’t love Dean. Not romantically.”

“You’re kidding me.”

The cupid continued to grin, apparently waiting for Castiel to start talking. His smile began to fade.

“Really. Really? How could you not know? Castiel, your love for him is stronger than many of the couples I oversee! And that’s without a single nudge from Heaven.”

“I…it isn’t like that. I’m simply following him because it’s the right course of action.”

The cupid looked close to tears.

“You betrayed Heaven for love, and you don’t even know it. Oh, that’s so sad.”

“Stop that. You’re not right.”

“My dear Castiel, don’t try to lie to a cupid about love.”

“Physical attraction is not the same as romantic love. Dean is a beautiful being in both body and soul, and I appreciate him.”

“You don’t even realise how deeply you love him! I bet you’ve fantasised about becoming his guardian angel. About finding excuses to stay on Earth far after the apocalypse and stay by his side. About finding his Heaven and living beside him for the rest of eternity.”

Castiel froze.

“Brother?”

“Apiazar. I suggest you leave town. Now.”

The cupid didn’t answer, though a second later two arms encircled Castiel. He didn’t react.

“I’m sorry, brother. I shouldn’t have spoken. I know love hurts sometimes.”

Castiel didn’t respond, though he allowed the contact to last for nearly a minute. They stepped away from each other in silence.

It wasn’t until he shifted to fly away that Apiazar spoke again.

“One last thing, brother.”

Castiel rolled his eyes skyward, turning to look over his shoulder.

“What?”

“Just so you know, I don’t think I’d need to use an arrow to make Dean go gaga for you. You do well enough on your own.”

“What are you talking about?”

The cupid smiled, something softer than the exuberance from before.

“He likes you too, silly! You could probably make something really great together, if you tried.”

With the sound of wings, the cupid disappeared.

Castiel made his way back to the Winchesters in the next second, after stopping by to pick up more burgers. He really was beginning to ache quite badly from hunger.

He got back in time to see a soul drifting Heaven-ward from a briefcase.

* * *

 

“You want to go over the plan again?”

Castiel glanced at Dean, and was struck by a surge of – Lust? Love? – it didn’t matter because Castiel was leaning over, he was sliding a hand to cup the back of Dean’s neck. Their lips pressed together for an endless, perfect second – he remembered himself.

He jerked back.

Dean’s eyes were wide.

“Cas?”

“D-Dean, I – uh.”

The urge was still there, buzzing beneath his skin. Dean was still so close, his scent overwhelming in the small space. Castiel was stronger than him. He could push forwards, take Dean’s lips again. Leave marks along Dean’s neck. Slide hands across his body, find the places that made Dean shake with pleasure. Dean would not deny him any longer –

No! No, that was horrific! He wouldn’t do that. Not to Dean. Not to anyone! He would not force himself onto another, this was Famine’s influence –

Castiel broke their gaze, staring out of the window as a wave of grace ran through his body, burning off the human desires within his body. It wasn’t working. The hunger was already growing. His hands were trembling with the effort to still himself. No. Castiel was an angel, the angel of Temperance. Moderation. Restraint. He was above succumbing to such temptations – fuck this! He was better than this! He would offer himself to Heaven’s mercies again before touching Dean without consent.

Shifting, Castiel focused on suppressing the area of his vessel’s chemical brain that was craving Dean’s attention. In response, the burgers were suddenly phenomenally more appetising. Apparently, his grace was weakened enough he was unable to suppress all his desires. Burgers. Strong black coffee. Lemon meringue pie. Raspberries. Dean. Chocolate. Beer. Kisses up along his neck. Dean’s laughter.

No. Food was safe. He wouldn’t abuse Dean’s trust a second time. He would not touch Dean again until Famine was dead.

“Guess we should have tried a little harder to get you laid, huh?”

Castiel snorted.

“It appears that Famine’s influence has called up more than a hunger for red meat.”

“You gonna be alright getting up close?”

“My grace can suppress any…urges, if I focus enough.”

“Sure? ‘cause you could sit this one out if it’s getting too much.”

“Dean. It’s fine. I’m fine.”

Dean was still staring, worry twisting his features. Castiel breathed deeply. The urges were beginning to fade.

“So, the plan?”

“I’ll take the knife, I go in, cut off the ring of Famine, and meet you back here.”

“Well, that sounds foolproof.”

In retrospect, concentrating all of his small immunity to Famine’s power entirely on suppressing one craving and allowing the others free reign was a poor tactic. Within seconds of entering close proximity to the Horseman, Castiel had fallen to his knees before a tray of raw ground meat. The texture – soft, somewhat damp, tacky – was only equalled by the metallic bloody scent in terms of disgust. Still, it was enough to trigger that craving.

Above him, beyond Castiel’s sight, Famine was cackling. The demons began to jeer in malicious pleasure.

Predictably, Dean stormed in only a minute later.

“Cas!”

And he was unable to act. Unable to protect Dean from any of the demons or the Horseman, or assist Dean in battle. He could feel the current thrumming beneath his skin. Dean’s very presence left Castiel vulnerable to succumbing to lust, and endangering him even more.

There was nothing he could do.

He was helpless.

“Have you wondered why you can walk in my presence? Not even your attack dog is strong enough to resist.”

“I like to think it’s because of my strength of character.”

“I disagree.” Famine was moving closer to Dean. Dean, restrained by demons, and Famine was moving closer, and he. Could. Do. Nothing. Swallowing another mouthful of raw meat, he could feel his eyes burn in frustration.

Dean.

“Yes, I see.” Famine spoke, one hand resting on Dean’s chest. “That’s one deep, dark nothing you’ve got there, Dean. Can’t fill it, can you. Not with food, or drink. Not even with sex.”

No. Those were lies. Castiel would have sensed if Dean felt so empty, surely. He would not be so blind to his closest friend’s needs.

“You’re so full of crap.” Yes, exactly. Famine was merely trying to create doubt. To play with his food before he consumed it.

“Oh, you can smirk and joke and lie to your brother, lie to yourself, but not to me! I can see inside you, Dean.”

Famine was wrong.

“I can see how broken you are, how defeated. You can’t win, and you know it.”

He had to help Dean. He needed to help Dean.

“But…you just keep fighting. You keep going through the motions.”

Famine made your deepest cravings irresistible. Castiel wanted…he wanted…

“You’re not hungry, Dean, because inside, you’re already…dead.”

“No!” Castiel snarled, flinging the metal tray at the Horseman.

He needed to defend Dean, he had to protect Dean. 

Another demon intercepted the tray, and Cas was by Dean’s side, ripping the demon’s arm away strongly enough to snap bone.

There was a demon on his back.

Castiel’s wings slid into being, slicing the demon to pieces.

Dean was moving, twisting away from his remaining captor. Cas leapt to follow him, slamming another demon away.

Famine was wheezing, demons surrounding him.

“Dean!” Sam’s voice.

Sam was at the doorway, his face stained with demon blood.

“Sammy, no!”

He had to protect Dean. Seizing him, Castiel drew him close, pressing him to his chest, wrapped within his wings. Dean was already struggling, trying to make his way to Sam, trying desperately to protect him.

“Sam. I see you got the snack I sent you.”

“You sent?”

Dean stilled within his arms, listening. Or perhaps he’d simply noticed the blood smeared around Sam’s mouth.

Cas shifted, holding him closer. Dean was safe. He could keep Dean safe.

“Don’t worry. You’ll never die from drinking too much. Just the way Satan wanted you to be. So…cut their throats. Have at them!”

The demons, still warily gazing between where Castiel stood and where Sam waited, all flinched at Famine’s words.

“Sammy!”

He felt Dean startle as Sam gestured at the demons, drawing them all from their vessels to leave them restrained as wisps of black smoke. It was an astonishing display of power. No angel he knew of had such control over demon-kind, and most psychics would only dream of having an ability like this.

His arms, wrapped about Dean’s waist, tightened momentarily; his wings shifting as if to shield Dean’s sight.

“I don’t want their blood.” Sam spat.

“Fine.” Famine scoffed. “If you don’t want them, then I’ll have them.”

Breathing deeply, Famine nearly seemed to inhale the demons, an act that quickly proved his doom as Sam used them to attack him from within. Spasms shook his frail body, before the Horseman eventually fell still.

Castiel felt the moment Famine’s control fell. The desperate need to guard Dean from the world fell away, leaving only the warm comfort of embracing the man he loved. Dean was no longer struggling, simply staring at his brother.

“Sam?”

Sam’s eyes were wild, thrilled at the destruction around him. He looked demonic.

His nose was bleeding with the effort of his abilities.

“Cas, let go.”

He released him, watching cautiously as Dean approached his brother. 

Sam didn’t resist as Dean guided him to the car. Didn’t speak.

Dean glanced back to Castiel as he was about to leave. There was too much hanging between them now, too much unaddressed with no chance to speak. Sam’s wellbeing came first, as it should.

“I’ll meet you at Singer Salvage,” Castiel said.

Dean nodded, his expression grim, before he drove away.

* * *

 

“Apiazar. Do you hear me?”

The cupid appeared before him a second later, still wrapped in the form of a naked human. His four wings fluttered happily.

“Brother! You called!”

“Yes.” Castiel paused, looking away. “You are right. I love him.”

Apiazar nearly squealed in delight.

“I knew it! I knew it! Brother, you are so lucky!”

“Am I?”

“Love is so special!”

It didn’t feel special. It felt smothering, suffocating. It felt overwhelming, enveloping, nauseating. Dean was so vital to the world, a crucial instrument on whom the lives of many depended, but it would go on if he were gone. Castiel would not. He could feel it, a certainty settling within him, cold and heavy. He craved Dean, his joys and delights. His pleasures in the world. Dean needed to be happy, he had to be safe, or else why did Castiel even exist?

It was too much. It was dangerous. It was terrifying.

“Take it away. Please.” His voice was so small, nothing like the commanding tone of a seraph.

Apiazar paused, frowning.

“Brother?”

“Take it away. Make the love into nothing. Remove it.”

“Brother, I can’t. Why would you even ask me to?” His voice was near tears once more. Castiel growled.

“You have to! I know you do so for humans!”

“You’re not human!”

“Please!”

“No!”

In an unexpected display of power, the cherub snarled, his four wings spread wide as his grace sparkled. Castiel didn’t flinch, glaring at him. It would take a lot more than an angry cherub to intimidate him, even as low powered as he currently was.

“Why would you even want to throw away something so rare and powerful? Do you know how many beings ever fall in love? It’s easy for humans, they’re shaped to seek it out. For beings like us, oh… you have no idea how much I envy your bond, Castiel.”

“I nearly attacked him!”

“But you didn’t! He’s fine!”

“Famine may have taken command of my impulses, but he only drew forth desires that already resided within me! There is a part of me that still wants that! I still crave him, I want him, I want to take and consume and devour until there is nothing left of him! Until we are a single being! It trembles beneath my skin!”

“What do you think love means, Castiel?! You are an angel! We do not devote ourselves lightly!”

“Please! I can’t—“

“Then don’t! Golly gosh, Castiel! It isn’t that difficult! If humans are able to overcome their darker impulses, then why in the world do you believe you would succumb? You are the angel of Temperance, and you love him! You don’t want to harm him, so don’t! Pull yourself together!”

Castiel was panting, staring at the other angel. There wasn’t a single thing he had spoken which wasn’t correct.

“I’m not sure I can.”

“Whining is not very becoming of an angel, brother, especially one who has been gifted such a blessing.”

Castiel frowned.

“I don’t know what to do.”

“Follow your heart, Castiel. It will lead you right.”

“That doesn’t sound like a particularly wise choice of action considering the current erratic nature of my emotions.”

 “I cannot guide you, brother. Your love isn’t designed by Heaven the way it is with my charges, it is an act of free will.”

“I act in free will, and you’re okay with that.”

Apiazar shrugged, smiling.

“Love is love.”

Castiel turned away.

“Thank you.”

He flew before the cupid could react.


	18. Chapter 18

“Dean. Dean, can you hear me?”

There was nothing. No response.

“Sam? Sam Winchester? Dean?”

Silence.

“Dean.”

The connection was as strong as he could risk it. He would not lead the angels to either brother while they were so vulnerable. There was nothing else he could do but call out to them, and hope his voice was able to wind its way into their personal Heavens.

“Dean. Sam. Please, hear me.”

It had been long hours since he had first noticed their absence, a deafening ache centred in his chest at their deaths. How he could have possibly mistaken the sensation of feeling Dean sent to some future for the sensation of Dean’s death was absolutely beyond him. There was no comparison. The panic. The pain of it. The all-consuming rage that Dean had been stolen – that either of the brothers had been stolen – from his guardianship.

“Listen to me. Hear my voice.”

He had found their bodies quickly, their murderers still nearby. It was easy to catch them, Walt and Roy. Self-righteous humans, equally terrified and proud of their most recent actions, fleeing the city.  They lay unconscious in the bathroom. He had considered killing them as punishment for their crimes. Only the knowledge that Dean and Sam would want the opportunity themselves stayed his hand.

“Dean. Sam.”

His voice was beginning to grow hoarse. Scratchy, despite the small amount of grace that still burned though his body. Keeping a connection to Heaven active for this long was burning through his energy more quickly than he had anticipated. It would be several days before he recovered fully. Quite possibly, he wouldn’t. Every day he was closer and closer to being fully human.

“Dean.”

_Cas?_

“Dean! Yes, it’s me!” Finally. Castiel released a deep sigh, his shoulders falling.

_You gotta stop poking around my dreams. I need some me-time._

“Dean. Listen to me very closely. This isn’t a dream.”

Dean didn’t answer immediately, and he thought he had lost him for a moment.

_Then what is it?_

“Deep down, you already know.”

_I’m dead._

“Condolences.”

_Where am I?_

“Heaven.”

_Heaven? How’d I get to Heaven?_

Did Dean still doubt his worth enough to think he deserved less than Heaven? He would need to speak with him, once they were both among the living.

“Please listen. This spell, this connection, it’s difficult to maintain.”

_Wait, if I’m in Heaven, where’s Sam?_

“What do you see?”

_What do you mean, what do I see?_

“Some people see a tunnel, or a river.”

_Nothing. My dash. I’m in my car. I’m on the road._

“Alright. A road. For you it’s a road.” It made sense. Dean loved driving. “Follow it, Dean. You’ll find Sam. Follow the road.”

There was a noise – more the sensation of noise, something sizzling across whatever connection they’d managed to form. The angels had noticed.

Castiel fell silent, waiting. There was nothing he could do. Dean needed to move quickly, before the angels found him. There was no way of telling how close they were. No way of peeking into Heaven. All he could do was hope Dean had evaded their attention before he tried to make contact again.

Luckily, finding Dean again was much easier. He knew the sound of Dean, knew his soul. And now Dean was calling for him, crying out in a way that was almost the same as prayer.

Establishing the connection was easier, though he tried to keep his voice quieter to escape notice.

_Cas!_

“I can hear you.”

_Cas. Hey! So, I found Sam, but something happened. There was this weird beam of light._

Castiel was pierced with alarm. They had gotten that close? Was this worth the risk? Of course it was, what was he thinking? Dean was alone in hostile territory, with no idea how dangerous things could get.

“Don’t go into the light!”

_Okay, thanks, Carol-Ann. What was it?_

“Not what, whom. Angels. They’re searching for you, led by Zachariah, I think. I recognise his grace.”

_And if they find us?_

That voice was tonally different, to a degree. It must be Sam.

“You can’t say yes to Michael or Lucifer if you’re dead. Zachariah needs to return you to your bodies.”

 _Great! Problem solved!_ Sam replied.

“No. You don’t understand. You’re vulnerable right now, and in the angels’ home territories. They will not be returning you to life unless they are fairly certain you’ll say yes, and they are not afraid to force the issue.”

 _So what, then?! I don’t want to wait out the rest of the apocalypse up here, dodging light shows_! Dean, again.

“You need to find an angel. His name is Joshua.”

_Cas, man, no offense but we are kind of ass full of angels, okay. Can’t you come pick us up?_

“I can’t. I can’t return to Heaven. They’ll recognise my presence the moment I cross over.”

_You saying we’re stuck up here?_

“Find Joshua! He is neutral in all things relating to Earth.”

 _And this Joshua, he’ll help us out?_ Sam asked.

“The rumour is, he talks to God.”

_So?_

“If any angel can get you out without, ah…reconditioning, it is him. Besides, don’t you think, Dean – just maybe – we should try to find out what the hell God’s been saying?”

_Jeez, touchy._

“Please. This is a rare opportunity, and probably the only way for you to escape safely. You have to find him.”

_Yeah, okay Cas. How?_

“Just follow the road. It’s called the Axis Mundi, it runs through all of Heaven. Different souls see it as different things, for you it’s two-lane asphalt. The road will lead you to the garden.” The sizzling was beginning again. The angels had found them. “Joshua is in the Garden! Hurry! Find him! Leave! Now!”

He broke the connection before the angels tracked it any closer, sinking heavily onto the side of Dean’s bed. Communication was proving more draining that he had expected. After this session, he may even need to sleep.

Castiel could not thank his blessings enough that he’d had the foresight to ward the entire room well before trying to establish contact. Even so, the angels had nearly followed his call back to Earth. He couldn’t risk another attempt. All he could do was hope Dean had heard everything he needed, hope Dean would find Joshua.

Waiting was an agony he wasn’t sure he could fully describe. Here, he was helpless, exhausted after the effort of healing the brothers’ corpses of their mortal wounds. Above, he knew, they were fighting for their freedom.

There was nothing to do but wait.

* * *

 

Sam gasped suddenly, rocking up. His eyes were wild as frantic lungs attempted to draw in fresh air. Cas was by his side in an instant, a brief wash of grace easing his transition back into the land of the living.

As he acted, Dean awoke nearly as violently, though more quickly soothed by the brush of an intangible wing.

“You found Joshua.”

“Yeah.” Sam heaved, swinging his legs to the side of the bed. “Yeah, we found him.”

“I’m glad.” Cas smiled.

“Yeah, me too.”

“Sam!”

“Dean, I’m fine.”

Castiel turned to him, checking him over as he had with Sam. Dean squirmed away from his touch, at least until he had visually confirmed Sam was fine. He flushed a little when he noticed Cas’s smile.

He stepped back a moment later, standing at the end of the beds.

“You both appear to be fully healed, settled in your bodies.”

Dean smiled, though it seemed more like a grimace.

“Cas, about Joshua…”

“Yes?”

Dean hesitated. Sam frowned, glancing between them.

“He said God left a message.” Sam explained. “It’s not good.”

Castiel waited, but apparently neither brother wanted to be the one to break whatever news they had. What could be so bad they were nervous to speak it aloud?

When the silence was approaching a minute in length, Castiel began to grow frustrated.

“Would either of you care to enlighten me?”

“God knows everything, Cas.” Dean confessed. “He knows you’re looking, he knows how bad things are getting. He just reckons this isn’t his mess.”

Castiel blinked, his brows drawing close in confusion.

“What?”

“He could stop it, he just doesn’t want to.”

“No, that – that can’t…” He swallowed. “The amulet—“

“Joshua says the amulet won’t help.”

Castiel felt his back hit something – the divider of the room – and only then realised he’d been backing away, as if distance from the brothers could somehow make their words untrue. Hidden by the folds of his coat, one hand tangled in the lattice-work of the divider, tightening until his hand ached.

“Maybe…maybe Joshua was lying.”

“I don’t think he was, Cas. I’m sorry.” Sam added.

Was it true? Was that the reason he had had no success in his search? His Father didn’t _care?_

No. No, this had not been a waste of his efforts! Castiel rejected this. God did not get to design the End of the World, and then ignore it! He didn’t get to just leave! People were going to die, angels and humans alike, because of his choice.

He turned away from the brothers, pacing to the other end of the room.

“You son of a bitch. I believed in…” God had abandoned them all. Not his problem.

His eyes were burning hot with grace and anger, his sight fractured by tears.

There was nothing else. No other way to defeat Lucifer. The Colt had failed. God was gone. What else was there?

He retrieved the amulet from his pocket. Dean likely wanted it back, now that he’d finished with it.

“I don’t need this anymore. It’s worthless.” His voice was rough, croaking. Turning, he tossed it to Dean, keeping his eyes low.

“Cas.”

He shook his head, flexing his wings to fly.

“Wait! Cas!”

Dean had grabbed his wrist, as if sensing his intention to leave. Castiel stilled, of course, unwilling to drag Dean with him to wherever he was planning on collapsing into himself. His eyes found Dean’s soft, sympathetic.

“Cas.” Dean moved closer, his fingers tracing across the back of Castiel’s hand. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.”

When had Dean moved to stand before him? Dean’s free hand found his shoulder, sliding to rest along the side of his neck. Castiel leaned into his touch, held steady by his eyes as everything fell to rubble around him.

Beautiful Dean. Beloved Dean. Trying even now to stabilise him, keep his hope alive.

He was unaware it was too late for hope. This had been their last hope. Without God’s power behind them, there was nothing left that could save them. Humanity aside, there was nothing that would spare these brothers from destruction. Michael and Lucifer would take them, use them until nothing was left of them. Castiel would either be killed defending them, or taken to be re-educated until his mind was so twisted around he thought their sacrifice upon the altar of Heaven’s Will was a good thing.

This was their end, and Dean didn’t know it yet.

Castiel would not be the one to disillusion him. Dean still had faith that they would succeed somehow, despite everything that suggested the contrary. Castiel would follow him until there was nothing else left. Perhaps there was even some chance Dean would find a solution.

“I’ll return, Dean. I just need a moment.”

Dean nodded, leaning away though he did allow their contact to linger.

Castiel yearned for it as soon as it was gone.

He flew.

* * *

 

If Castiel had a chemically based memory the way humans did, he was sure it would have been impaired by now. Then again, if Castiel was that human, he would be dead from alcohol poisoning. Either way, it was obscenely frustrating that after drinking an entire store’s worth of liquor, he could still remember every moment with perfect clarity.

His phone was beeping.

He blinked, fumbling to remove it from his coat pocket, but it fell silent. The call had dropped.

Shrugging, he found another bottle, tipping it back. It had been a while since he had paid any mind to the labelling on any of them, but he did notice the familiar taste of whisky. Ellen and Jo had been kind enough to share their bottle back when they had still been alive. Back before Castiel had failed to protect them, just as he would one day fail to protect Dean and Sam.

He placed the empty bottle down, searching for another. This particular shop wasn’t too big. Its isolated location meant the only human for several miles lay unconscious behind the counter. Most of the bottles were weaker beers and ales, but some shelves had a whole range of honey-coloured liquids for his consumption. There were even a few wines, or there had been. He’d long since drunk those dry.

Castiel stepped over the shopkeeper, examining the heavier drinks behind the counter. Perhaps they might be more effective. So far his attempt to drink his mind quiet had been unsuccessful, except for inducing a state of permanent unbalance and mildly impairing his motor controls.

The phone was probably one of the brothers.

He blinked, head falling forwards to rest his chin against his chest, as he tried once more to remove it from his pocket.

There was a notification on the screen. A voice mail. How did he access those again?

Another drink. He nodded, placing the phone down as he selected another bottle, this one full of colourless alcohol. A drink would help him work it out.

After swallowing about half the new bottle, he tried again, unlocking the phone. Maybe the middle button – yes! The voice mail page opened. And that bit said “call.”

The automated voice began to talk, once the chimes had finished ringing. He took the opportunity to finish the bottle.

“ _Cas, hey, uh. It’s me.”_ Sam’s voice began. “ _So we are in Blue Earth, Minnesota, and um, we could use a little help. I… hope you get this.”_

Had the call really been half a day ago? He could swear the beeping had been only minutes ago. Squinting, he examined the shop. Empty bottles were scattered across it, near every drink stronger than a pale ale gone. Poor shop person. He’d have a large mess to clean up once he woke up.

This wasn’t the shop he started in, was it? No, definitely not. The first one had had antlers above the door. Wait, wasn’t that the third one? Which one was this?

He was feeling wilted, unsteady, slightly nauseated. Why could he still remember everything perfectly?

Sam had left a message. They had a case.

Well, meagre excuse for an angel and guardian he was, he could still help the brothers kill monsters. Probably. Maybe.

He was flying before he knew it, stumbling slightly as he landed.

Sam was nearby. He started at the sound of Castiel’s landing.

“I got your message. It was, uh… long. Your message. And I find the sound of your voice grating.”

Sam appeared to be confused. He was boring to look at, but Dean wasn’t nearby, so he supposed Sam was okay. They had similar eyes. Perhaps the room would appear more stationary if he was sitting down.

“What’s wrong with you? Are you… drunk?”

“No!” What an awful accusation, of course he wasn’t drunk! Although, he had imbibed a great deal of alcohol. Perhaps he was drunk. “Yes.”

 “What the hell happened to you?”

“I found a liquor store.”

“And?”

“And I drank it.” Castiel glowered at Sam. What did he think happened at liquor stores, anyway? “Why’d you call me?”

Moving towards the seating, Castiel stumbled rather badly. Only Sam’s sharp reflexes saved him from sprawling across the floor.

“Whoa. There you go.” Carefully, Sam helped him forwards, guiding him onto the chair. Castiel blearily stared up at him. Sam was still speaking calmly, the same voice he used when addressing victims. “Easy. Are you okay?”

Castiel sneered.

“Don’t ask stupid questions. Tell me what you need?”

Sam seemed quite unbalanced by his behaviour. Had he never seen a hopeless failure before?

“T-there have been these – these demon attacks. Massive. Right on the edge of town. And we can’t figure out why they’re-“

“Any sign of angels?” He interrupted. There should at least be a regiment sent to investigate the attacks, or had Heaven decided demon violence wasn’t their problem? He wouldn’t be of any use against angels.

“Sort of. They’ve been speaking to this Prophet.”

“Who?”

“This girl. Leah Gideon.”

“She’s not a prophet,” he scoffed. Apparently, talking about their case left Sam feeling more secure, because he thought he knew enough to argue back.

“I’m pretty sure she is. Visions, headaches – the whole package.” Sam stated.

Castiel sighed, settling back in his chair and tilting his head towards the ceiling. He could do with being a little less confrontational, he supposed. Sam was doing his best in a bad situation. It was more than Castiel.

“The names of all the prophets, they’re seared into my brain,” he explained. “Leah Gideon is not one of them.”

“Then what is she?”

“The whore, probably.”

“Uh…”

“Babylon, the Great. Mother of prostitutes.”

“Oh! The Whore of Babylon. She’s real?”

“Yes. Where’s Dean?”

“Um, I’m not sure. I think he went out for a walk.”

“Mhmm. We should wait for him to get back.” Being in Sam’s presence was actually proving to be quite soothing. Not as much as Dean, of course, but it was enough to send Castiel comfortably drifting. Sam was… Sam was family too.

“Yeah,” Sam muttered. “Maybe by then you’ll have sobered up.”

Castiel snorted, grinning up at the ceiling.

“Yeah. Maybe.”

* * *

 

Dean walked in covered in blood.

Castiel was alarmed for the microsecond it took for his grace to trace over his friend, and confirm that he had no actual injuries. Sam was slower to react, but he also calmed as he assessed Dean’s state.

“Paul’s dead.”

“What?” Sam replied.

“Jane shot him.” Dean spat, obviously disgusted by her actions.

“It’s starting,” Castiel sighed. Dean startled at his words, before turning a scowl in his direction.

“What’s starting? Where the hell have you been?”

Castiel began to glare back. His head was hurting quite a lot right now, throbbing in time with his non-existent heartbeat and Dean’s aggression was making it worse. When in hell had he allowed Dean to talk to him so impertinently? As if he was some recalcitrant dog? He wanted to shove his way into Dean’s space, demand his respect, kiss him hard against the wall until they were both –

Fuck. Not now.

“On a bender,” he snapped, only a little gratified by the look of surprise on Dean’s face.

“Did he – did you just say ‘on a bender’?”

Why was that such a surprising thing? Wasn’t this how humans dealt with grief and hopelessness? Did Dean think he was too holy for such pursuits?

“Yeah. He’s still pretty smashed.”

He snorted, waving away Dean’s look of concern.

“It is not of import. We need to talk about what’s happening here.”

Dean paused for a second, looking like he very much wanted to keep talking about his drunkenness, before deciding the hunt had priority. As it should. His love was a good man.

“Well, I’m all ears.”

“For starters… Leah is not a real prophet.” Sam began.

“Then what is she?”

“The whore.”

Dean snorted, looking about half a second from breaking out into a grin.

“Wow, Cas. Tell us what you really think.”

He squinted at Dean, unamused. His head was hurting too much for Dean’s distractions.

“She rises when Lucifer walks the Earth. ‘And she shall come, bearing false prophecy’. This creature has the power to take human form, read minds. Book of Revelation calls her the ‘whore of Babylon’.”

“Well, that’s catchy.”

“The real Leah Gideon was probably killed months ago.” Sam added.

“What about the demons?”

“They’ll be under her control.”

“And the Enochian exorcism?”

“Fake. Actually, it means ‘You breed with the mouth of a goat’.” Castiel snorted, glancing up to find both Winchesters staring blankly. “Uh, it’s funnier in enochian.”

It wasn’t. It was a dirty joke. Dean would appreciate it, had he contextual understanding of it. Why couldn’t Dean have been born an angel? They would be great friends, traversing the great stretches of Heaven and the universe to watch stars being born. They would battle voidkin together, destroying enemies of their father. They would defend the poor humans from the uncaring wrath of angelkind. They could love each other, together, forever as the closest of companions, full of each other and needing nothing else.

He was so tired of this.

“So, the demons smoking out? That’s just a con? Why? What’s the endgame?” Dean asked.

“What you just saw. Innocent blood spilt in God’s name.” It was a tragedy really, that humans – devout humans – could so quickly be led into committing atrocities if it was supposedly what their God wanted.

“You heard all that Heaven talk. She manipulates people.” Sam elaborated.

“To slaughter and kill and sing peppy little hymns. Awesome.” Dean groaned.

“Her goal is to condemn as many souls to hell as possible. And it’s just beginning. She’s well on her way to dragging this whole town into the pit.”

“Alright, so how do we go all Pimp of Babylon all over this bitch?”

Castiel sighed, rolling his shoulders as he moved to stand.

“There’s, uh – I’ll pick up what we need. It shouldn’t take too long.”

Dean was by his side nearly instantly.

“Whoa, Cas. You sure you’re up to flying?”

“Of course I am. I’m not human yet.”

“Yeah, but…” Dean bit his tongue. Castiel flew from the room before he could voice another objection.

A cypress tree was easy to find in the ruins of old Babylon.

Only minutes after he had left, he was back with them in Blue Earth.

Dean seemed upset at his sudden departure. He shrugged. Dean should be used to it by now.

“The whore can be killed with this,” he said, offering the branch. Dean took it, turning it over in his hands.

“Great! Let’s go!”

“It’s not that easy.”

“Of course not,” Dean sighed.

“The whore can only be killed by a true Servant of Heaven.”

“Servant. As in…”

“Not you. Not me. Certainly not Sam. In Heaven’s eyes he is an abomination. We’ll have to find someone else.”

Sam seemed vaguely hurt by his words. Castiel frowned. He hadn’t meant to hurt Sam, it was simply how things were.

“The Pastor,” Dean said.

“He seems to be our best chance.”

“Alright. Let’s go.”

* * *

 

Recruiting the Pastor proved to be much easier than expected. He had long since began to suspect there was something not right about his daughter, and after fighting demons for so long, he was willing to believe Sam and Dean when they brought him a warning.

He was waiting outside the motel room as Sam prepared the Pastor for his duty inside. Apparently his hearing was playing up. Every  five minutes or so, Castiel was able to make out a single phrase or sentence from within the room, but other than that their voices were muffled, nearly to the point of silence.

Dean walked over from the car, throwing something small in Castiel’s direction. Even hungover as he was, his reflexes were sharp enough to catch the object.

It was a small, tinted glass bottle, filled with white pills. The label described them as some kind of painkiller.

“How many should I take?”

“You? You should probably just down the whole bottle.”

“Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.” He stepped closer, close enough Castiel could sense the warmth of his body through the air. “Yeah, I’ve been there. I’m a big expert on deadbeat dads. So… yeah, I get it. I know how you feel.”

Castiel sighed, leaning over just enough that his forehead rested against Dean’s hip. His wings followed, folding forwards to wrap around his friend in an intangible embrace. Apparently, lingering drunkenness made him bold. Dean tensed for a moment, but before Castiel could retreat, he relaxed into the touch. A moment later, he felt Dean’s hand begin to card through his hair, settling on the side of his neck. Castiel sighed again, more deeply.

“How do you manage it?” The pain. The disappointment. The grief. The anger.

“On a good day, you get to kill a whore.”

“And on a bad day?”

“If you do what I do, you end up hungover,” Dean sighed.

“It’s a horrible feeling.”

“Take your pills, Cas.”

Swallowing the little pills dry proved to be more difficult than he anticipated, though he managed. Dean was correct about how many he needed to be effective. After nearly 30, he could sense some change to his physiology as the aspirin began to block the pain signals being sent by his achingly demi-mortal body.

“I haven’t been having many good days, recently,” Castiel added, returning to his resting point leaning against Dean. He could nearly hear Dean smiling down at him, and that was nearly as soothing as the pills.

“Well, you can join the club. We all got baggage here.”

“The days spent around you are some of the better ones.”

They were his better days, despite the fact that most of his brethren now hunted him. Despite the fact that there was little hope for the future. It was like being in Dean’s presence had reawakened some part of himself, one that had long since fallen silent as the Host grew less kind and more militaristic.

“Yeah. They’re, uh, some of the better ones for me too,” Dean responded, his voice coloured by bashfulness. He seemed nearly reluctant to admit even so innocent a pleasure.

He loved this man. He loved Dean so much.

“Thank you, Dean. For helping me.”

“Anytime, Cas. I told you already.”

I love you.

Just say the words.

I. Love. You. Dean. Winchester.

Why couldn’t he say it aloud? The words were so simple, so meaningful.

But now was not the time, was it? Not before a hunt, not in the middle of the apocalypse. It was not a burden he would place on Dean tonight. Perhaps, not ever.

Who knew how these last days would play out? It may be that Castiel died, or was required to return to Heaven, unable to return until long past the lifespan of a human.

No. Castiel was fine drawing pleasure from these little moments, the happy moments, before things would inevitably go wrong.

Slowly, Castiel leaned away, making to stand up. Dean stepped back, but his hand remained raised between them, an offer of assistance should he falter.

“We should move. The whore will be wreaking havoc even now.”

Dean grinned, turning to lead them back into the motel room.

* * *

 

Castiel didn’t remember much of the battle.

He had the whore restrained, but then she was chanting and he fell back, in pain. There had been yelling, and screaming, and he could barely focus past the agony in his wings.

If he were stronger, less human, he could have endured it. He could have been of assistance to the brothers. He could have defended Dean.

As it was, he only had hazy recollections of Dean helping to carry him to the Impala as the spell ran its course.

He remembered driving, and the scent of the Pastor sat beside him. He remembered the bed, where exhaustion finally overwhelmed him.

Castiel awoke in a motel.

Sam was nearby, speaking softly with the Pastor sat in the other bed. Daylight filtered through the window, indicating that he had been unconscious for at least the rest of the night.

Well, how about that. He was no longer simply aware of the time to the exact microsecond. He had to guess, as humans did. Great.

“Cas. How are you?” Sam had noticed he was awake. The Pastor glanced over curiously, though Castiel could sense it was only an attempt to distract himself from grief.

“I’m fine.”

Sam seemed sceptical, but let it drop. He appeared somewhat distracted.

Slowly, Castiel began to take stock of himself, flexing each of his remaining wings, spiralling his grace around the room, rolling his shoulders. Everything seemed to be in working order. The spell the whore had used was designed to cause intense pain and distort the senses of any being associated with Heaven.  It was really for use against lower order angels, normally it would have no effect on a seraph. Obviously he was the exception.

There was something missing.

“Where’s Dean?”

Sam grimaced.

“He drove off last night. I’m not sure where.”

“Drove off? Where? Why haven’t you followed him?” Castiel quickly shifted to stand, disregarding the way his head was spinning. It would wear off, and Dean was more important.

“I had to watch over you two! And besides, he left with the car.”

“We need to find him.”

“I know. I’m not certain, but I think I might have an idea where he went.”

“Let’s go, then.”

Sam gave him a pointed look, before gesturing with one hand to the Pastor.

“We can leave him in a hospital.”

“Cas-“

“Sam, locating your brother is currently the number one priority of all of Heaven. This isn’t a time when it’s safe for him to be without a second set of eyes.”

“I know! Just – just give me five minutes, a second ago you were comatose. Now you’re yelling about going after Dean.”

Castiel growled to himself, but he did calm a little.

Five minutes. He could wait.

Possibly.


	19. Chapter 19

They tried to fly, at first. Once the motel was empty, the Pastor safe at the nearest hospital, Sam had explained where he suspected Dean was headed. If Sam was right, Dean would have arrived a little over an hour ago.

Castiel had nodded, grasped his shoulder, stretched his wings – only to hiss at the sudden, unexpected pain coursing across his ethereal appendages.  It burned through quickly, hot and sharp, leaving his wings trembling. Likely, some remnant of the curse.

Relaxing, he’d folded them carefully, waiting as the ache dissipated, before trying again. The pain wasn’t as immediate this time, but it still built quickly. More alarmingly, he could barely feel his wings catching on the fabric of the universe – maybe once every three flexes.

He was losing his ability to fly.

Sam had looked somewhere between frustrated and pitying when Castiel had confessed they would need to drive. Even now, several hours into their trip, he could feel Sam’s eyes on him.

He’d never really spent so long in Sam’s presence before. There was always an enemy to destroy, or a mission to complete. Not to mention, Castiel felt naturally drawn to Dean’s presence whenever he was around. It was difficult to even notice Sam beyond the brightness that was Dean.

Was Sam aware that Castiel held him in high regard? His behaviour around the younger Winchester certainly didn’t reflect it.  There was not a single action he had taken to help Sam that he hadn’t already offered his brother. Oftentimes, Sam’s wellbeing had even slipped from his mind as unimportant.

Despite his shamefully indifferent behaviour, Sam still treated him kindly. Sam cared about his wellbeing beyond their alliance.

He had to fix this. Starting with his latest infraction.

“Sam. We must talk.”

Sam glanced to him before reaching to silence the radio.

“Sure. What’s up?”

“I need to apologise. Earlier, while I was intoxicated, I was very rude towards you. I also referred to you as an abomination, even though I know the word is painful to you. I am sorry.”

Sam seemed surprised, glancing between him and the road.

“No, uh – don’t worry about it, Cas.”

“The statement itself is inaccurate. A remnant of the bigotry of Heaven against anything non-angelic.”

“Cas, I don’t mind.” Sam interjected. Castiel frowned, studying him. Without reading his thoughts, Sam’s emotions were harder to decipher to Dean’s, but he had been practicing for months now. He was certain Sam did, in fact, mind. The exact taste of his emotions right now was reminiscent of his initial meeting with Dean – a miasma of shame, unworthiness and pain.

“You are a good person, Sam. One of the kindest beings I have ever met. These burdens you carry, the guilt and responsibility, it’s not your fault. You are a victim of the machinations of Heaven and Hell. It is amazing that you were able to resist following them for as long as you did.”

“Cas, really… I know you mean well, but…” Sam sighed. “I made my own choices. I chose to trust Ruby instead of Dean, I chose to drink demon blood, and I chose to kill Lilith. Azazel may have started this, but I got here on my own.”

“From the moment I made first contact with Dean and Bobby in that barn, a minimum of two angels were to watch both you and your brother at all times and report your actions directly to Heaven. Sam. There is a reason the demon Ruby wasn’t slaughtered once the angels were aware of her. She was leading you down the very path Heaven wished you to take.”

“What?” Sam looked ill at the very prospect.

“Heaven was very invested in you killing Lilith at the right moment.”

“Yeah, I think I’m getting that.”

Sam was silent for several minutes, obviously uncomfortable with the entire conversation. When he spoke again, it was clear he wanted to drop the subject and focus on something else.

Castiel didn’t mind. Insisting on discussing a subject Sam found uncomfortable would do neither of them good.

“So, what was it like here before humans evolved?” Sam asked.

“Uh, that is a very long period of time. Could you be more specific?”

He snorted. “Your favourite, then.”

Castiel thought for a second.

“I believe my favourite period of time is referred to as the Cambrian.”

“Yeah? What was it like?”

“The Cambrian – around 560 million years ago – it was the time when Life truly began to grow wild and complex here on Earth. Quite suddenly, over the course of only a few dozen generations, Life evolved from jellyfish-type things into complex arthropoda and many other new things. Living things developed the ability to move, making it much easier to hunt each other and escape predation. From that moment, Life developed so rapidly – eyes, preliminary spines, the first attempts at air-processing lungs.”

“That sounds awesome, Cas.”

“It was. Really it was all very exciting.”

Most of the rest of the journey was spent in conversation. Castiel spoke of the stars, Jupiter, the curiosity of the early times. He spoke of the evolution of life, of the first fishes that struggled across onto land.

Sam listened attentively, although it was obvious he was using Castiel’s words as an escape from his own worries. Castiel didn’t mind. It was nice to reminisce.

It was around noon when they arrived in Lawrence. Sam drove directly to the cemetery that held their mother’s grave, scanning the roads nearby for any sign of Dean’s Impala. Still unable to fly, Castiel refocused his energy to scanning the area to try and pick up on Dean’s thoughts.

Abandoning the car, he followed Sam towards the headstone.

Very quickly it became apparent that the last time Dean’s soul had visited was months ago. If Sam was right, they could still intercept him before he called for Michael.

An hour later, the Impala rolled by, heading towards a local motel.

* * *

 

All things considered, catching Dean was the easy part. Keeping him captive – that was going to be difficult.

Dean paced the house like a caged wolf, throwing itself against the restraints to test for weaknesses. Nearly his antithesis, Castiel was motionless in a way impossible for humans to maintain. Even his breathing had slowed to nearly nothing, attention completely intent upon Dean’s agitated form. While Sam and Bobby spoke passionately, desperately trying to convince Dean of the folly of his actions, Castiel merely watched.

Dean was angry. Hopeless. Quite literally suicidal. It made him want to weep.

At what point had he become caught up so far in his own grief that he didn’t notice Dean was breaking? Drowning beneath the weight of his responsibility?

The Colt was useless to defeat Lucifer. Two Horsemen still roamed the Earth, causing destruction. The angels were hunting them, as were the demons. Their fellow hunters blamed them for the Apocalypse, many of them ready to attack or even hunt the brothers. And now even God had forsaken them. Acknowledged that he was aware of their problems, simply uninterested in assisting.

It had been a devastating blow, and not simply to Castiel’s confidence in the love of his Father. It had been Dean’s last hope too.

Now, as always, Dean tried to fix everything himself. To bargain his own life and freedom for the safety of his brother, and the world beyond too. Bobby growled and Dean snarled, while Sam frantically searched for any way to describe how devastated he was at Dean’s choice.

Hearing angelic voices screaming in triumph felt like a rail-road spike had been driven into his head.

Castiel hissed, nearly groaning aloud in pain. Was this what angels sounded like to humans? High, piercing, whistling screeches? He could barely make out the meaning of the words behind the noise.

“Cas, you okay?” Sam’s hand found his shoulder. At his touch, the voices quietened, fading to nearly nothing. It was impossible to tell whether the angels had fallen silent, or his ability to perceive them had deteriorated.

“No.” he said. It there was one thing he was certain of, it was that things were not okay.

“What’s wrong?”

“Something’s happening. The angels are joyous.”

“That’s bad, right?” Dean interjected.

“Where?” Sam asked.

Castiel stretched his wings carefully, flexing them slowly. They ached, but not in any way that would prevent flight. It appeared he was healed enough.

“I’ll be back.”

He flew before either brother responded, landing in a forest. There was a clearing ahead, made up of fallen trees, horribly reminiscent of the one that circled Dean’s grave. A soul had been resurrected here. In fact – just there! Movement in the earth. The human was struggling to the surface.

There were angels nearby.

Some instinct sent Castiel spinning even before the other angel drew their blade. His own felt cool in his touch, the star-crafted metal nearly humming in his hand.

The fight was brutal. Short. The two angels were not young so much as innocent, happy in the service of Heaven. Glad to dispatch an angel as low as Castiel. Surprised that they could be so mortally injured by a fallen one.

Castiel didn’t recognise either of them. He could barely see the aura of their grace, couldn’t make out their features. He was too human.

He turned from the scorch-marks of their wings, spread across the undergrowth. The human needed his assistance.

A minute later, he returned to Bobby Singer’s house, the resurrected human slung across his shoulders.

* * *

 

Adam Milligan appeared to be just as pig-headedly determined on sacrificing himself for family as his half-brothers. Perhaps it was in their genetics.

Either way, the constant arguing was beginning to give him a migraine. Sam and Dean both had near instantly offered their protection, and implored Adam Milligan to trust them, to trust in their familial bond. Adam refused, very reasonably more concerned for the fate of his mother than two brothers he had never met before. Bobby watched on mostly silent.

And then Adam revealed that the angels planned for him to become Michael’s vessel.

 “Well, that’s insane!” Dean snapped.

“Not necessarily,” Castiel felt the need to interject.

“How do you mean?”

“Maybe they’re moving on from you.”

“No, that doesn’t make sense.” Dean disagreed.

“Maybe they’re desperate. Maybe they _wrongly_ assumed that Dean would be brave enough to withstand them.”

“Alright, you know what? Blow me, Cas.” Dean snarled. Castiel scowled, turning away.

Sam tried to take a more pragmatic approach, drawing up the inconsistencies in the proposed plans of the angels. His arguments did have merit, of course, but they were irrelevant considering that Dean was straining to throw himself across their sacrificial altar.

Castiel was trying to be understanding. He really was. It was a difficult situation, and there was no prospect of a solution any time soon in the future. But Dean’s corrosive attitude was beginning to wear upon him.

He was tired.

Castiel jolted back to full awareness at the sound of raised voices. He blinked, staring blearily in the direction of the kitchen.

Apparently Sam and Bobby wanted to lock Dean within the panic room. A good idea, really, if they wanted to keep in control of Adam Milligan. If the boy wanted to leave, it would be difficult to keep him captive, especially with Dean attempting to sabotage their efforts in an attempt to escape, himself. Sighing, Castiel made his way over to offer his support, following as Sam escorted him downstairs.

Dean was not happy. You wouldn’t know it by his smirk, but it was easy to see the anger in his eyes. There was something lazily confident about his stance. It was obvious he was still planning on saying yes, already plotting to escape.

He didn’t care, did he? He didn’t care how completely his death would destroy his brother, would break Bobby. He didn’t care that his suicide would completely invalidate all of Castiel’s choices, his sacrifices. He didn’t care that Castiel would do anything, give anything for Dean to be well and be happy. Why didn’t he value his own life? Why was he so damn self-sacrificing? What gave him the right to just give up?

“Well, Cas, not for nothing but the last person who looked at me like that… I got laid.” Dean quipped, raising an eyebrow. Castiel glared harder, tempted to slam Dean against a wall and shake sense back into the man. They were all broken. They were all hurting. They were all hopeless. But they still banded together, struggled for some sort of solution.

Would Dean stay with them if Castiel kissed him? Dean often sought comfort in the pleasures of the flesh, Castiel knew it helped to ground him. For a moment, he allowed his thoughts to run rampant, multiplying, speculating. What if he’d pursued Dean, after their first kiss, instead of seeking the cupid? What if Dean had accepted it for what it was – not some remnant curiosity about human sexual practices, but genuine interest in becoming Dean’s lover? What if Dean had wanted him back? What if he had remained, after discovering his Father had abandoned them, comforting each other instead of despairing alone? Would things be different, then? Would Dean be calmer, less reckless, if he knew of the depths of Castiel’s devotion to him?

Sam was glancing between them both, looking vaguely uncomfortable.

“Uh, why don’t you, uh, go keep an eye on Adam?” Sam asked of him.

He didn’t look away from Dean, though with a gesture he slammed the door shut. There was no point on dwelling on ‘what ifs’, even if he knew they were true somewhere across the multitude of parallel universes within existence. Within this reality, within this world, on this planet Earth, Dean wished to die, and Castiel’s love for him was unspoken.

It was a bitter thing.

Sam seemed shaken when he returned upstairs. It was only at that moment that Castiel realised he had been unable to hear Sam and Dean speaking, despite only being a few rooms away.

His hearing was now at a human’s sensitivity. Glancing to his hands, it was obvious his sight was nearly as bad. He could no longer focus on the molecules that made them up, stuck viewing only the whole.

Wings failing. Senses at a human level. It wouldn’t be much longer before he lost his ability to smite demons, if he hadn’t already. Soon he would require sleep, sustenance. Soon there would be nothing left of his heritage but his name. Gabriel had been right. It was too important to lose.

Perhaps an hour later, as the sun began to paint the sky with the colours of evening, Castiel went to check on Dean. There had been no progress convincing Adam to trust them. Castiel hoped that Dean may have rethought his stance, or at least be in a more amenable mood.

There was a crash.

Speeding to the panic room door he looked inside, taking in the mess. Was Dean alright? He couldn’t sense him properly through the thick iron walls.

“Dean?”

Dean didn’t answer. He couldn’t see him.

What if an angel was in there? Dean could still summon one to his side through prayer. The warding on his chest did nothing if Dean was willing to reveal his location.

“Dean!”

Still no answer. Worse than an angel, what if Dean had sought to harm himself? It wouldn’t be the first time Castiel had seen a human injure themselves in an attempt to gain a feeling of control in their lives.

Opening the door, he stepped though quickly, turning to scan the room for Dean’s presence.

A metallic crash drew his attention. Dean was standing hidden from the doorway, his features grim with determination.

“Hey, Cas.” His voice was heavy. “I’m sorry.”

Castiel didn’t notice the sigil until Dean moved to touch it. He had barely a second to react, lunging forwards as Dean activated it, sending him screaming through the atmosphere.

It hurt. Fucking hell, it hurt so much. He could barely think, barely act as the flames surrounded him – grace burning up as his wings were shredded by the spell. He wasn’t angel enough to withstand this anymore. Wasn’t human enough to be immune.

Castiel landed like a meteorite, gasping for reprieve. His ribs felt cracked, every necessary breath an agony. His left leg was broken, the bone shattered as he landed. His hands were not responding. His wings felt parred down to raw ethereal flesh.

Why would Dean do this to him? Didn’t he understand the torment of it? How desperate was Dean for death?

Slowly, Castiel focused his remaining grace. There wasn’t much, but he had to become whole once more. Dean would be escaping even as he lay healing.

It took him until night had truly fallen to heal enough to stand. Another few minutes for his head to stop spinning. More time again to be ready to fly. All the while, he felt his rage grow.

Castiel had tried to be understanding. He had tried to empathise. He had tried to approach Dean gently, carefully turn him away from his reckless thoughts. Had been trying since they met.

No longer.

Dean obviously didn’t value his contributions. Dean obviously didn’t care that he was causing pain to his loved ones. Dean now was nothing but a pale imitation of the man Castiel had fallen for, literally and romantically. This weak, selfish little human was nothing like the brazen Righteous Man who demanded God act better.

Castiel found him in Sioux Falls, following the prayer of a preacher.

Grabbing hold of a panicked Dean by the shoulder, he dragged the man out of sight of the street, throwing him stumbling ahead.

“What, are you crazy?” Dean snarled, his eyes wide in fear. Castiel slammed him into a wall, baring his teeth as he punched Dean across the face.

“I rebelled for this?” he yelled. Spinning, he slammed Dean against the opposite wall, punching him in the gut. Grabbed his hair to draw his face back until Castiel could see it again, see the fear and the pain. He pressed closer. “So that you could surrender to them?”

“Cas! Please!” Dean was whimpering, asking for mercy. Castiel would not give it.

Dean was growing bloodier beneath his fists. His own ribs cracked from the force Castiel was using. Still he raged.

“I gave everything for you! And this is what you give me?”

He hated him.

Hated Dean.

Stepping back, he dragged the man away from the wall. Sent him flying backwards into the chain-link fence. Dean collapsed, heaving for breath, on the floor.

Castiel strode forwards, intent on attacking once more.

Dean looked up at him. His eyes were peaceful. Resigned.

Castiel paused.

“Do it. Just do it.”

Why couldn’t he act? What was stopping him from – he hated Dean so much. So much. Dean wanted this. He wanted the pain. He wanted to die – by Castiel’s hand was as good as any other.

It wasn’t really hate, though, was it. This was the man Castiel had sworn to protect. The man who inspired him to try again and again to search for a better way. A kinder way. He loved Dean, loved him with every fibre of his being, so constant it was like a second heartbeat.

He had failed. He had hurt Dean, caught up in rage and frustration, and now Dean lay begging for Castiel to lay the final blow. Put him out of his misery.

Castiel would not.

Stepping closer, he sent Dean to sleep with a touch. Attempted to heal the worst of his wounds, succeeded somewhat.

Castiel lifted him carefully, and did manage to fly the short distance to Bobby’s house.

Relinquishing the unconscious man to the care of his brother and Bobby was no easy task, though Castiel did manage. He stepped away, waiting as they checked him over, rubbed salves on the smallest cuts, added stitches to the larger ones. Castiel would heal them all soon, once he caught his breath.

So. Castiel could no longer be trusted as Dean’s guardian. He let his emotions overwhelm him once more, and this time he didn’t even have Famine’s presence as an excuse for allowing his impulses to run rampant. Worse, he had actually injured Dean. Come close to killing the man. If he had still been at full strength, he was sure Dean would have been dead from the first blow.

It was exactly as he had warned the cupid. Wanting the best for Dean, searching to provide it, it was all for nothing if a moment of rage was enough to break his control. Love was not enough. He wasn’t worthy of Dean’s regard.

It was only later that he realised Adam was long gone.

* * *

 

Castiel didn’t speak as the brothers prepared for their assault on the waiting room. There was nothing left to say. He watched as they made up angel-proofing charms, revised the sigils he’d gifted Bobby so many months ago, and he allowed the feeling of inevitability to flow over him.

This was it. The end of things. The conclusion to the sorry tale that was his sacrifice, their struggle.

It would always have ended like this. He could see that now. The details may be different than expected – but who knew? Perhaps this story had been his Father’s wretched design all along. Serialised anguish and torment, designed to slowly break down whatever resistance to Fate the brothers had.

There was no other way to defeat Lucifer. They had made their best effort, struggled, and sacrificed, all to prove there was no other option.

And now Dean sought to succumb. With the loss of his brother, it would only be so long before Sam fell to Lucifer, probably sooner than even Sam imagined. And then the Apocalypse would truly begin.

Honestly, it was hard to blame Dean. Logically, his actions were sound. Many would be saved, carried directly to Heaven by the hordes of reapers waiting. Many more would be doomed either to Hell or to haunt the remnants of Earth for eternity, never to find peace, but that was still better than if Lucifer won. He would simply destroy the souls, tearing them into nothing more than energy.

Some selfish part of Castiel wished Dean would reject Michael. Wished he, Sam and Dean could all simply persist, ignoring the plans of the angels and Lucifer out of nothing more than spite. So what if they didn’t have a solution? That didn’t mean they had to accept their Fate, or remorsefully follow the plan set out before them.

Realistically he knew it would never work. Dean could not ignore the suffering the angels would cause any more than Sam could. Selfish desire or not, Castiel would not ignore the destruction his brethren were causing.

It was sort of funny, actually. Here they were, all fighting for their lives, fighting for each other, fighting for free will and freedom for all, yet they were trapped by the very morals that guided them. Facing death, and walking forwards anyway.

It was around mid-morning when they were ready to attack.

His wings creaked like arthritic joints as he stretched them, the feathers barely catching on the currents of the universe. If he lived past this assault, it was likely this would be his last flight before they simply became dead weight. By now he was closer to human than divine, slowly drained by the oozing of grace from the unhealed wound where his sixth wing should be, an ache he’d simply learned to ignore.

Flight hurt.

They landed heavily, Castiel staggering in an attempt to stabilise himself as his wings locked in place, spasms running across their surface. Dean caught his arm, pulling him upright again, while Sam seemed to be struggling with nausea.

Castiel shook off Dean’s support, ignoring the look he received. Dean had given up. His small attempt to make things right now did nothing to ease Castiel’s spirits.

“Where the hell are we?” Dean asked.

“Van Nuys, California.” His voice sounded flat, even to him.

“Where’s the beautiful room?”

“In there.”

“The beautiful room is in an abandoned muffler factory in Van Nuys, California?”

It did seem a little absurd, the dichotomy between the room’s interior – modelled after the Palace of Versailles – and the derelict wasteland it was kept in. The location was chosen for its isolation, and premade fortifications, as well as the power of the site itself. He shrugged.

“Tell me again why you don’t just grab Adam and shazam your way out of there?” Sam asked, trying to get them refocused on the mission at hand.

“Because there are at least five angels inside,” he sighed.

“So? You’re fast.” Dean added.

“They’re faster.” What was the point in elaborating the degree to which his wings were damaged? He wouldn’t be leaving here alive anyway. “I’ll clear them out, though. You two go in, grab the boy. This will be your only chance.”

Reaching up, he began to undo his tie, then the buttons of his dress shirt. Dean grabbed his hand, drawing Castiel’s attention. He looked angry.

“Wait, you’re gonna take on five angels?” Maybe not so much angry as worried, then.

“Yes.”

“Isn’t that suicide?” Dean actually seemed alarmed. Castiel blinked, before shrugging off his hand. This was the way Dean had chosen for them to fall. He shouldn’t act so shocked at the consequences.

“Maybe it is. But then I won’t have to watch you fail.” Dean winced at his words. “I’m sorry, Dean, but I do not have the same faith in you that Sam does. This is all I have left to give.”

He retrieved the box cutter he’d snatched from Bobby’s house, ignoring Sam’s worried exclamation. The first cut was painful, and it was difficult to get the lines right while tracing them on himself and upside down, but it didn’t take long to complete. What little grace he had left was buzzing through his blood, not quite enough to actually encourage healing anymore.

Re-buttoning his shirt was more painful than he expected, the action tugging on the torn skin in an interesting way.

At the door to the factory, he paused, glancing back to look one last time upon the man he loved and his brother.

Killing the first of his kin was easier than it ever should have become. Four others surrounded him, ironically each was an angel from within his old flight. The one he had once had command of before Ananchel had fallen. It was obvious they had been chosen specifically so that he would hesitate as he fought against them, a last attempt to bring his loyalty back into Heaven’s favour. It would not work.

Castiel snarled as he activated the banishing sigil.

Everything disappeared.


	20. Chapter 20

The hospital bed was covered in a too thin mattress. The sharp scent of disinfectant burned in his nose. His entire body ached, the point where the IV entered his skin itched, and his head was spinning.

In all honesty Castiel had never expected he might survive the banishing.

He called Dean’s phone as soon as the medical practitioners allowed him access to a telephone.

“Hello?”

“Dean?”

Dean’s voice. Dean was alive. Dean hadn’t said yes!

“Cas? We all thought you were dead! Where the hell are you, man?”

Beloved Dean. Angry. Worried. Human.

“A hospital.”

“Are you okay?

“No.”

Silence.

“You want to elaborate?”

“I just woke up here. The doctors were fairly surprised. They thought I was brain-dead.”

“So, a hospital?”

“Apparently, after Van Nuys, I suddenly appeared, bloody and unconscious, on a shrimping boat off Delacroix. I’m told it upset the sailors.”

“Uh, well, I gotta tell you, man – you’re just in time. We figured out a way to pop Satan’s box.”

This was marvellous news!

“How?”

“It’s a long story, but, look – we’re going after Pestilence now. So if you want to zap over here…?” Dean’s voice ended on a smile.

Castiel swallowed, his spirits falling.

“I can’t zap anywhere.”

Dean was silent for a moment, before speaking again, an edge of caution to his voice.

“What do you mean?”

“You could say my batteries are – are drained.”

“You’re out of angel mojo?”

“I’m saying that I am thirsty and my head aches. I have a bug bite that itches no matter how much I scratch it, and I’m saying I’m just incredibly…”

“Human,” Dean finished. “Wow. Sorry.”

Castiel sighed, closing his eyes against the impulse to weep. Dean was safe and well, and that was worth the last of his grace. He could grieve later.

“Well, my point is – I can’t go anywhere without money for… an airplane ride. And food. And more pain medication, ideally.”

“Alright. Well, look, no worries. We’re at Bobby’s, we can get cash wired over to you. Hang tight, yeah?”

“Dean, wait.”

There was mumbling over the phone for a second as Dean spoke to the room, before he responded, “Yeah?”

“Dean. You said no to Michael. I owe you an apology.”

“Cas… I – it’s okay.” There was a tremble to his voice, nearly undetectable. Castiel had done that. He had crafted that doubt, and levered it wide into an open wound. He had to remedy this.

“You are not the burnt and broken shell of a man I believed you to be.”

“Thank you. I appreciate that.”

“You’re welcome.”

Neither of them spoke for a short while, simply listening to the breathing of each other.

“I’m glad you’re alright, Cas.”

Dean hung up on the next beat, before Castiel was able to formulate an answer.

* * *

 

The bus had been unpleasant, but it was nothing compared to Pestilence’s stronghold. Sickness clung to the place, noises of misery echoing through the halls. Diseased corpses lay unattended.

There was no action he could take now for them.

He had to find the Winchesters.

Room after room. Bodies everywhere. The last of his veil-sight allowed him to pick out demons, dying just as quickly of disease as their human counterparts. Already the hospital was far quieter than it had been even a few minutes ago. So many humans underestimated the destructive nature of sickness.

The sound of talking attracted his attention.

He moved quicker.

Stepping into the room, Castiel found both brothers coughing, on their knees. The Horseman stood grinning down at them from the other end of the room.

“Cas!” Dean wheezed.

Pestilence seemed peeved. “How’d you get here?”

“I took a bus. Don’t worry, I—” Stepping forwards, quite suddenly he found his head spinning, his knees weak. Of course he was vulnerable now. How had he forgotten for even a single second?

Above him, Pestilence was crooning, moving closer as if to examine him. Castiel’s stomach began to twist, the poor quality food he had eaten on the journey nearly coming back up.

Still, he knew he wasn’t quite done yet. However bad he felt, surely it was phenomenally worse for the brothers. He had to be the strong one here.

Grabbing the knife he surged upright, lunging to slice through the Horseman’s fingers.

 “Oh.” He gasped, examining the wound. Already his edges were fading, scattering, but still he grinned. “It doesn’t matter anyway. It’s too late.”

As quickly as the Horseman faded from existence, so did the symptoms of whatever awful disease he had infected them with. Castiel stood tall, turning to face the brothers.

“Hello, Dean.”

* * *

 

The ride back to Bobby’s house was quiet. Each of them recovering. Sam was napping in the front seat, while Dean drove. He subtly glanced over to Castiel in the rear mirror every few minutes, though he didn’t attempt to talk. Castiel ignored him, content to doze lounging on the back seat of the Impala. He was still exhausted from his time comatose and the long journey to meet the brothers, as well as his brief contraction of several deadly diseases.

They did have to talk properly, clear the air between them, but not right now.

After they arrived, Sam quickly recounted their success to Bobby, ending with Pestilence’s ominous last words.

“He get specific?” Bobby asked.

“No.” Sam replied.

“We’re just a little freaked out he may have left a bomb somewhere.” Dean added. “Please tell us you have actual good news.”

Bobby snorted, rolling his chair to pick up several print outs from the desk.

“Chicago’s about to be wiped off the map,” Bobby explained, handing the documents to Sam, who flicked through them. “Storm of the millennium. Sets off a daisy chain of natural disasters. Three million people are gonna die.”

Castiel frowned at the man. “I don’t understand your definition of good news.” 

Dean groaned into his arms, missing Bobby’s unimpressed look. Turning to regard Castiel more fully, he began to explain further.

“Well… Death, the Horseman – he’s gonna be there. If we can stop him before this storm kicks off, grab his ring—“

“Yeah, you make it sound so easy,” Dean snidely cut in. He could be very rude sometimes. Castiel had the impulse to gently cuff Dean with one of his wings in reprimand. What was the human equivalent of a wing cuff, anyway? A pinch to the bicep? A gentle shove with one shoulder? Kicking? He ought to learn sometime soon.

“Hell, I’m just trying to put a spin on it.” Bobby sighed.

It was a lead, at the very least.

“Hey, Bobby,” Sam called, still leafing through the papers. “How’d you put this all together, anyways? This looks more advanced than the MET office forecast.”

At Sam’s question, Bobby was visibly flustered, not meeting Sam’s eyes, of Castiel’s. Dean, more aware of the conversation than he appeared, quickly noticed Bobby’s agitation and began to watch him more closely.

“I had, you know…help.” His voice dropped, worry coating his words. What had Bobby done? Why was he so… ashamed? Was ashamed the right word? He was very stoic, it made him a difficult man to read accurately.

“Don’t be so modest!” Castiel flinched, eyes quickly finding the aberration in the room. A demon was standing in the kitchen doorway, vessel dressed all in black. The scent of blood clung to him so thickly, Castiel could already smell it, even with his weakened human senses. The soot-smoke-coals-ashes of the demon’s true form was nearly enough to conceal his human features, but Castiel could still pick him out. His smirk as he regarded the room. The relaxed cant of his shoulders belied the tension of his frame. At any moment, the demon was ready to spring into attack or flight. He knew this room contained no true allies.

This must be Crowley. He was still talking.

“Go ahead. Tell them. There’s no shame in it.” The demon shrugged, presenting an image of smarmy confidence.

Sam and Dean were glancing between them both, the demon and their father-figure. Castiel could swear he could sense their thoughts tumbling, matching the two together in the only way they fit. There was one likely possibility, but he had the feeling neither brother wanted to admit it.

“Bobby? Tell us what?” Sam’s voice was laced with fear.

Bobby broke away from his gaze, staring into his lap.

“World’s gonna end.” He shrugged, looking to the corner of the ceiling. “Seemed stupid to get all precious over one little—“ He swallowed. “-soul.”

“You sold your soul?” Dean asked sharply.

“Oh, more like pawned it,” Crowley scoffed. “I fully intend to give it back.”

Dean was on his feet, spinning to place himself between Bobby and Crowley, the demon knife already bare in his hand. Castiel shivered, eyes trailing over his form, all fierce and protective and beautiful – this was not the time.

For a second, Crowley’s eyes flickered to his, ignoring the threat before him to smirk at Castiel’s predicament. He scowled back, his cheeks flushing red. Of course the demon picked up on random threads of lust below the radar of the others.

“Well, then! Give his soul back!” Dean demanded, pressing the blade to Crowley’s throat, and – oh! He actually looked worried now. How nice.

“I will.”

“Now!”

“Did you kiss him?” Sam interrupted.

“Sam!” Dean groaned.

“Just wondering.”

“No!” Bobby cried vehemently, his face twisted into a disgusted grimace.

Crowley regained their full attention by clearing his throat, turning his phone to display an image of Bobby and the demon kissing. Rather passionately, apparently.

Bobby sighed.

Dean, it seemed, had had enough.

“You know what? I’m sick of this. Give his soul back, now!”

“I’m sorry, I can’t.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

“I won’t, alright! It’s insurance!” Crowley roared. For a second, the smoke of his body began to glow as if lit from within by flames in response to his anger. Castiel had never been so close to a demon while not in combat before. It was interesting to watch how he reacted. “You kill demons. Gigantor over there has temper issues. But you won’t kill me… as long as I have that soul in the deposit box.”

“You son of a bitch!” Bobby growled.

“I’ll return it,” Crowley drawled, in control of his flames once more. “After this is all over, and I can walk away safely. Do we all understand each other?”

Dean opened his mouth, likely to begin yet another attempt at threatening the demon, but in the next moment Crowley was gone from the room.

* * *

 

In the end, it was Crowley who identified the threat Pestilence had eluded to. Croatoan virus marketed as a cure for swine flu. After establishing such a widespread foothold, it would be simple for the prolific virus to spread across the rest of the population, quite possibly on an international scale.

And the beginning of distribution just so happened to be timed to occur during the Chicago storm. Lucifer was trying to split their manpower.

To be fair, his effort was successful. By the Impala, Dean had just finished preparing to travel to Chicago. He was still avoiding Castiel, which hurt. Sam stood nearby, having wandered over to Dean from loading a spare van with improvised explosives and weaponry. It may be one of the last times the brothers had to speak together. He chose not to intrude.

In the meantime, Castiel busied himself with the remaining preparations. Bobby wheeled over as he was loading the van.

“What’s your problem?” Bobby asked.

Castiel sighed.

“This is what they mean by the 11th hour, correct?”

“Pretty much.”

“Well, it’s the 11th hour, and I am useless. All I have is this.” He gestured to the shotgun Dean had given him. “What am I supposed to do with this?”

“Point it and shoot.”

“What I used to be—“

“Are you really gonna bitch – to me?” Bobby snorted. “Quit pining for the varsity years and load the damn truck.”

Castiel flinched, dropping his eyes to his hands.

“I apologise. I shouldn’t have mentioned anything.” His throat felt too full.

There were still boxes left to load. Bobby was right. Now wasn’t the time to focus on what he had lost, not with a mission about to begin.

He glanced up a few minutes later, as he loaded the last of the munitions. Bobby was still there. Castiel had felt his eyes.

“You gonna sulk the entire trip?”

“I – I can’t feel my wings anymore.” Castiel winced, words tumbling free before he could stop them. “Sorry. I meant to say no. I’m not – I won’t sulk. I—” he swallowed, dropping his gaze. “Sorry.”

There was nothing left to load here. Nothing to distract him or focus on.

“Calm down, boy. I’m not about to attack you,” Bobby sighed.

Castiel scowled at being addressed as a child – he was older than the human species! – but he kept silent. Unmoving.

“This has been going on for a while, huh? Your, uh – wings?” Bobby probed. Castiel’s eyes flicked to him, unsurprised by his pained expression.

He didn’t answer.

“Do you want to talk about this or not?” Bobby snapped.

“I don’t wish to invalidate your own injuries—”

“Talk.”

“Fine,” Castiel replied, staring at the gravel by his feet. “I was, uh, left wounded when my – when God brought me back. It didn’t heal. Since then, I have been losing grace from the wound. I was aware the whole time that eventually I could reach this stage, and I am still – I’m still making an issue of it when we need to focus on our upcoming mission.”

Bobby snorted.

“So you’ve basically been bleeding out this whole time, waiting for the moment your wings give, and you’re only bringing it up now?”

Castiel glared at him.

“It isn’t like any of you could have stopped it happening,” he muttered.

“You’re as bad as those boys over there. How the hell does hiding your injuries do any good!?” Bobby lamented. “I bet getting banished didn’t help any.”

“No. It did not.” Castiel glanced to where the brothers were talking on the other side of the lot, the memories of his penultimate banishing still fresh in his mind. Turning back, he paused at Bobby’s shrewd look.

“Does Dean know he threw you through the meat-grinder?”

Castiel shook his head.

“He knows I can’t fly. That’s enough. Telling him anything more would only make him feel unnecessarily guilty.”

Bobby sighed, rubbing at his temples. After a minutes, he shifted to face Castiel properly.

“Listen. Once you’ve finished with this, uh, domestic terrorism, I could give you the basics of human weaponry. I reckon you’ll pick it up pretty quick.”

Castiel was stunned. Bobby would offer his time to help him? A crippled, useless angel? What’s more, Bobby had faith that he would survive this endeavour and return. He swallowed, feeling as his cheeks flushed.

“Thank you. I – I really appreciate—”

“Yeah, yeah. No need to get all sappy.” Bobby barked, already moving to roll away.

Castiel didn’t mind. While he still needed practice recognising human emotional responses, he was fairly certain Bobby was merely embarrassed by receiving thanks. He was a good man, one Castiel was very glad to have met.

He felt calmer than before. More focused. Perhaps talking had helped, even if he had only shared a little.

Crowley reappeared just as they were leaving, in time to reveal the secret he’d concealed within Bobby’s contract. Bobby was delighted, though he did well to conceal it, particularly when he noticed Castiel’s gaze. He was glad for him, really. It was obvious how much his impairment had pained him. It didn’t matter if he was envious of Bobby being healed. He could put the feeling aside.

The part Castiel was having trouble understanding was why he was accompanying Sam to destroy the headquarters for Niveus Pharmaceuticals, when Dean was travelling to fight the Horseman of Death.

With Crowley.

There was a huge difference between trusting intel recovered from a demon intent on saving himself from a greater danger, and trusting a demon to fight alongside you in combat.

The journey itself proved to be as frustratingly slow as car travel usually was. Sam decided to fill the time catching him up on everything that had happened since their attempt to save Adam Milligan. Dean’s last minute decision to resist Michael. Killing Zachariah. Their failure to steal Adam away before Michael arrived and overwhelmed the boy. The council of pagan gods. Gabriel’s sacrifice. Obtaining the intel from the demon possessing Sam’s old friend Brady.

It seemed a lot had happened during the six weeks he’d been comatose.

Sam ended by recounting his idea for entrapping Lucifer.

“Saying yes to Lucifer, then jumping into the hole. It’s an interesting plan.” He surmised.

“That’s a word for it.” Bobby rumbled.

“So?” Sam asked, his eyes bright. “Go ahead and tell me it’s the worst plan you’ve ever heard.”

“Of course, if that is what you want me to tell you. It isn’t what I think.”

“Really?”

“Strategically, it is very sound. Your capitulation is the only bait we have of any interest to Lucifer. Dean was able to resist Michael. This will be more difficult, since it requires taking back control rather than simply maintaining it, but perhaps you are strong enough to resist Lucifer. You and Dean do have a habit of exceeding my expectations. There are things you need to know before you attempt it, though.”

“Like?”

“I can confirm Adam will be Michael’s new vessel. He is pragmatic enough that he will not wait on Dean.”

“We were trying not to think of that.” Bobby added.

“There is also the demon blood part.”

“What? What are you talking about?” Sam seemed nervous.

“Lucifer is fallen. His very existence is unholy, cursed by our Father. Becoming his vessel is unlike becoming the vessel for any other angel. His grace is corrosive to the uncorrupted.”

“Meaning?”

“If you take in Lucifer without drinking demon blood – far more than you have ever had before – your soul and body will simply explode.”

“But the guy he’s in now –“

“He’ll be drinking gallons.”

The idea of drinking demon blood once more seemed to bother Sam more than the possibility of saying yes.

“Sam. If you say yes and fail… this fight will happen. There is nothing else left to delay them. The collateral damage will be immense. Any uncertainty or insecurity you feel, any regret, Lucifer will prey upon it and twist it into a weapon. If you decide to do this, you must be certain. You must be prepared for the burden of it.”

“And how is that not the worst plan you’ve ever heard?” Bobby quipped. Castiel ignored him, focused on Sam.

“For the record, Sam, you do have the strength to resist. Lucifer’s entire strategy for control is to convince you not to fight.”

“How can you be certain?”

“Because, it is how all angels claim their vessels. Even I.”

Neither of the humans spoke, for a second, apparently thinking over the new information he had presented.

“Gotta say, that screams of all sorts of wrong.” Bobby spoke eventually. “You still fighting with Novak in there? How does that work, you being all human now?”

“Jimmy Novak remains in Heaven. My father didn’t raise him alongside myself. And it is not as dark as you might imagine. Many angels are friendly with their vessels, they say yes because they trust each other, or trust in Heaven. However, a few angels prefer to rely on coercion or torture in order to stop their vessels fighting, to make them say yes. Zachariah was a good example of that mentality.”

Sam was beginning to look vaguely uncomfortable at the mention of Zachariah. Castiel considered him for a second, before realising he was feeling guilty for killing Zachariah’s vessel.

The rest of their journey was more quiet. They arrived at the Niveus Pharmaceuticals distribution warehouse in time to see a truck moving to leave.

Several hours later, their quest was complete. Not a single sample of the croatoan virus had been leaked to the public, and the demons in charge of the facility were dead. A great success, in the end.

 Surprisingly, Dean called at about the same time to report his own success. Hopefully their luck would hold firm.

There was nothing left now but to capture Lucifer.

* * *

 

Castiel was dreaming. He knew he was dreaming. None of this made sense.

He didn’t want it to stop.

They were driving, Castiel and Dean. Sam was at his home in California. Castiel looked over and caught Dean smiling.

They were in a booth in some diner. Castiel ordered something, Dean too, and they were talking. There was no case right now, so Dean was talking about his favourite music. Castiel listened intently, eating his food.

They were driving again, this time towards a case. No one was dead yet, but it had been close. It should be easy to wrap up.

They were at a motel. Castiel was frowning down at some textbook, eyes growing fuzzy and heavy. Dean was behind him, hands brushing against his shoulders. His neck. Castiel turned to face him, in time to receive a kiss. Dean was slow, taking his time, framing Castiel’s face. He left to collect dinner.

They were in bed, lights off, beneath the covers. They had made love earlier, some hazy pleasurable memory. Dean’s bare skin was pressed against Castiel’s and they were both wrapped tightly in each other. Castiel slid his wings forwards, surrounding Dean. Protecting him from the world.

They woke up in the low light of morning. Dean was smiling. Castiel pressed kisses along his neck, his hands tracing Dean’s side until the hunter began to laugh.

They were dancing in a kitchen, before the dawn. Dean’s eyes were bright despite the early hour. Castiel couldn’t bear to look away from his joy. Their house, their very own place within the world. Dean drew him closer, until their foreheads were pressed together, gazing into each other.

He woke up as the car stilled. Detroit. They were here.

He missed the dreamworld more than he should. It was easy to see why so few djinn victims ever fought back. Within the dream there was no apocalypse to worry over. Sam was not about to possibly destroy himself before Lucifer. Dean wasn’t broken by the death of his brother. Castiel could remain on Earth, with the man he loved, despite his responsibilities as an angel. Things were good.

It seemed like a very low chance that things would work out now. Sam was strong, but Lucifer was insidious. Unrelenting. Even a second of doubt would be enough to give him a foothold.

And even if things worked out exactly as they planned, what sort of victory was that? Sam trapped alongside Lucifer within the Cage for eternity. Dean left without a purpose, without his brother. It was a tragedy any way you cared to examine it.

Sam approached him, his goodbyes complete.

“Take care of these guys, alright?”

“That’s not possible.” Honestly Castiel was a little confused that Sam was asking. If all went well, Castiel would have to return to Heaven to face punishment for disobedience, despite the fact that the apocalypse was over. Michael would likely not forgive the part he had played in trapping Lucifer. If things went wrong, then of course Castiel would stay but there wasn’t really much hope that his presence would help at all. It would be hard enough trying to convince Dean not to pursue some foolhardy and suicidal course of action in order to save Sam.

At Sam’s grimace, Castiel realised his mistake.

“Oh. I was supposed to lie. Uh…sure. They’ll both be fine.”

“Just – stop talking.”

“Sorry.”

Sam snorted, before turning away, walking towards the rear of the Impala and the jugs of demon blood.

* * *

 

It didn’t work. Sam failed. Lucifer escaped.

The ride back was subdued. Arriving back at Bobby’s home, Dean left to sleep without a word. Bobby followed not much later, pointing Castiel in the direction of the guest room. There was nothing left to do but wait. And hope.

By the morning, news reports had already begun to roll in of massive earthquakes. Lucifer’s work, most likely. There was no force so universally destructive to the human way of life than earthquakes. They destroyed infrastructure, causing fires and disrupting attempts to rescue the injured. They destroyed homes and workplaces, leaving humans exposed to the elements. Weak and at risk, easily picked off by disease or attack.

Hundreds of thousands were already feared dead.

“So what do we do now?” Dean asked, quietly aghast at the devastation.

“I suggest we imbibe copious quantities of alcohol.” Castiel replied sardonically. “Nothing to do but wait for the inevitable blast wave.”

“Yeah, swell. Thank you, Bukowski. I mean how do we stop it?”

“We don’t. We can’t. Lucifer will meet Michael on the chosen field, and the battle of Armageddon will begin.”

“Okay, well, where’s this chosen field?”

“I have no idea, Dean. It wasn’t important for us to know.”

“There’s got to be something we can do!”

Castiel smiled apologetically.

“I’m sorry, Dean. This is over for us. All we can do is hope Sam is able to break Lucifer’s control at the right second.”

“Listen to me, you junkless sissy! We are not giving up! Bobby?”

Bobby shrugged, gesturing towards the grim news reports.

“There was never much hope to begin with. I don’t know what to do.”

Dean snarled, pacing the room for a second before storming outside. Sharing a worried glance with Bobby, Castiel stood to follow Dean out.

He found him by the Impala.

“Dean.”

Dean didn’t react beyond a brief glance.

“Cas. You here to stop me?”

“No,” he replied. “It would only exhaust us both, and you’d probably still escape in the end.”

Dean snorted, his fingers dancing along the door handle.

“Sam’s the only one who can make a difference anymore. If you try and approach Lucifer, he will slaughter you.” Castiel stated.

“Yeah, well I ain’t gonna let Sam die alone.”

Dean nodded decisively, turning to slide into the car. Castiel stepped closer in response, grabbing the door as he went to close it. Dean paused, looking up to him.

“You don’t have to do this alone, Dean. I would be happy to accompany you. Bobby too, I’m sure. For Sam.”

Dean blinked, before giving a wry smile.

“Nah. You guys should stay here, wait it out. There needs to be someone left to pick up the pieces.”

With those parting words, Dean closed the door and began to drive.

For a moment, Castiel had the impulse to chase after the car, as irrational as it was. Dean was already too far to hear any attempt to stop him, and there was no way he could catch up on foot.

“Couldn’t stop him, huh?”

Castiel turned, spotting Bobby on the front porch. He must have followed when Castiel moved to talk to Dean.

“We need to follow him. Now.” Castiel spun towards Bobby’s truck. The man jogged towards him, already drawing his keys. Good man.

“How, genius? You think he’s been waiting around for us to catch up?”

“We call Chuck.”

* * *

 

Castiel didn’t know what he would have done had there not been a spare jug of holy oil in the back of Bobby’s truck. Not ancient oil, like the kind he’d fetched to trap Raphael, but freshly made stuff. Presumably, Bobby had acquired it somehow, or had it made.

There wasn’t much time to think, in the end. Dean stood, about to be slaughtered, pushed aside as nothing but a footnote in the battle between the Archangels. Castiel lept from the truck before it full stopped moving, lighting his weapon as he ran. Dimly, he was aware of Bobby chasing after him, to help or hinder.

 “Hey, ass-butt!” Not the most creative insult, but it was something akin to those Dean used. More importantly, it drew their attention.

As the angels turned to face him, Castiel threw the flaming bottle of holy oil, satisfied to see it make contact with Michael. Screaming, the angel disappeared, wrapped in flames.

“He’ll be back – and upset – but you have your five minutes, Dean.”

“Castiel.” Lucifer snarled. “Did you just Molotov my brother with holy fire?”

Lucifer’s wings, glorious and bright, flared in anger. There was no mercy left within his eyes, no curiosity or pity.

“Uh… no?”

“No one dicks with Michael but me!”

At least his second death was quick.


	21. Epilogue

He was alive. Alive again. Returned to life.

Heaven-song danced across his ears, time stretching innumerate forwards and back. He could see the molecules dancing through the air.

His vessel was different, again.

This wasn’t human, it wasn’t mortal in the slightest. His senses were already far better than they had ever been while occupying a vessel, nearly as sharp as they were when he was vessel-less.

Behind him, six pairs of true wings stretched. Not simply excess grace trailing out of his vessel, no. These wings were true appendages, as integral to the vessel as arms or legs.  Each cell of the body was a fusion of grace and matter – not simply laced with celestial capillaries as before, but as closely interwoven as protons and neutrons at the core of an atom.

This wasn’t a vessel. It was a body. An angelic body, designed solely for him.

His Father had done this. This was his reward, for keeping faith. For choosing the right path.

Dean knelt broken, bloody and weeping by the Impala. Castiel walked to him, touching his shoulder to gain his attention. Dean jerked to face him, relaxing as he recognised him.

“Cas? You’re alive?”

“Better than that.”

Castiel healed him with a brush of his grace. Taking Dean’s hand, he guided Dean to his feet, folding six wings close around him.

Dean was fine. Dean was alive. Safe.

 “Cas? Are you God?”

Castiel smiled, drawing Dean forwards into an embrace for a few seconds. Releasing him, Dean’s eyes were even wider with wonder.

“That’s a nice compliment. But no. Although I do believe he brought me back, new and improved.”

Turning from Dean, he took the few steps to where Bobby Singer was laid out, kneeling to revive him too. It was easy, his soul still waiting lost and confused nearby.

Driving back to Bobby’s house, Castiel chose to indulge in nostalgia and ride alongside Dean in the Impala.

“What are you going to do now?” Dean asked, his voice curiously flat. Castiel turned to regard him.

 “Return to Heaven, I suppose.” He shrugged.

“Heaven?”

“Yes. With both Michael and Lucifer in the Cage, I am sure it’s complete anarchy up there.”

“So what, you’re the new sheriff in town?” Dean scoffed.

“I like that,” Castiel smiled. “Yeah, I suppose I am.”

Dean didn’t seem as pleased with his words.

“Wow. God gives you a brand-new, shiny set of wings and suddenly you’re his bitch again?” Dean jeered. Castiel frowned at him, looking slightly closer. Not enough to read Dean’s thoughts, of course. He had learned his lesson as far as that violation went. Just close enough to examine the general mist of emotion surrounding him.

 “I don’t know for certain what God wants. In the end it doesn’t really matter. He supposedly wanted the Apocalypse. This just… seems like the right path to take.”

“Well, if you do see him, tell him I’m coming for him next.”

“You’re angry,” Castiel stated.

Ah. Of course. Dean was still grieving for Sam. He wasn’t aware Castiel now had the power to revive him.

“That’s an understatement.” Dean snarled.

“He did help, maybe even more than we realise.”

“That’s easy for you to say, he brought you back. But what about Sam? What about me, huh? Where’s my grand prize? All I’ve got is my brother in a hole!”

Castiel frowned.

“You got what you asked for, Dean,” he spoke. “No paradise. No Hell. Just more of the same.”

Dean sneered, shaking his head. Castiel leaned forwards to catch his eye. Even with so brief a glance, there was nothing but pain in Dean’s eyes.

“I mean it, Dean,” he continued. “What would you rather have? Peace, or freedom?”

Dean had no answer. Castiel didn’t mind. Stretching his wings, he moved to take flight, spiralling across the Earth to find the best place to enter Hell.

“Well, you really suck at goodbyes, you know that?” Dean called.

Castiel smiled as the prayer reached him. This wasn’t goodbye. Not really. Castiel would only be gone for a few days at most. He would always return to Dean. That was his choice, his freedom. His Heaven.

He just had to run a few errands first.

* * *

 

Castiel was the instrument of God’s Will. His choices were approved. Rewarded. It had all been some test of nerve, daring him to give more, to prove his commitment to free will and protecting humanity.

Well, what could he do but to continue?

Dean needed Sam to be happy. So he would bring Sam back. And Dean would call upon him once more, and he would visit, and perhaps someday soon he would be brave enough to confess his love for the man. There was always a chance Dean could love him back.

With his new vessel, negotiating the barrier between Earth and Hell was simple. Easy. He effortlessly avoided the attacks of the demons he encountered, slaughtering any too determined to allow him on his way. This wasn’t about them. This was about saving Sam Winchester. This was about securing Dean’s peace and happiness.

The Cage was silent. It sat on the fabric of the infernal plane like a window into the Empty. The bars themselves were made of Nothing. Non-existence. The opposite of matter and energy, whatever you would label it. Void. Being near it was enough to send him nearly to hysterics.

Plucking Sam free should be simple enough. The Cage was designed for angels. The touch of the Void didn’t drive human souls mad in the same way as an angel would be. Easy enough for a soul to simply slip out from between the bars.

He moved closer, despite the impulse that told him to flee this place. The Cage was Wrong. It shouldn’t exist.

“Sam Winchester!”

There was movement from within. A moment later, something that resembled Sam moved closer. It wasn’t an angel, at the very least.

Castiel examined it for a while, unwilling to risk releasing the wrong being. It did appear to be Sam, though it was hard to say. It wasn’t always easy recognising a soul without the body to give it context, and the last time he had truly seen Sam’s soul was over a year ago now, back before he’d begun to grow human.

“Sam. Come close, and I will free you.”

The soul didn’t respond, but he shifted until he was directly on the other side of the bars. Carefully, Castiel reached forwards with a tendril of grace, cautious of the Cage. As soon as it was close enough, the soul lunged for him. Castiel caught him, shifting to protect Sam from the miasma of Hell. Together, they flew from the Pit.

He left Sam within a newly crafted body, just outside the residence of Lisa Braeden and ready to visit Dean a moment later. It was a shame that he would miss their reunion, but Castiel had to check on things in Heaven. Once Dean called for him, prayed for his presence, then Castiel would return.

Or perhaps he would just return to say hello. Who could say? He was free.

For now, he had to share his discovery with his kin within Heaven. Castiel was the chosen of God. The new sheriff in Heaven. The instrument through which their Father would instruct the rest of angelkind in the wonders of free will and choice. He was to liberate them all.

He knew this all to be true. He could feel it in his grace.


End file.
